A little lizard lives in the lock of my gate.
That could be a good title for a song-- or even the first line of a poem. Well, one of those poems that teenage girls post on their bedroom door.
But it is true. There really is a lizard that hides inside the lock mechanism of the gate that leads to the walkway around the laguna. I see it every time I unlatch the gate -- day or night.
The lizard has been there for the past four years I have lived in this house. Or, at least, there has always been a lizard there. I have no idea how long they live. This may be Gate Lizard IV for all I know.
A gecko. That much I do know. Those bug-eyed, splay-toed denizens of our ceilings who look as if they had spent too much time with DNA transfers at Area 51. And turn our kitchen counters into campground latrines.
What amazes me is that it lives right in the lock mechanism. Like Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times. I expect every turn of the tumbler will result in gecko goo. But it hasn't happened.
And I doubt it will. The little lizard that lives in the lock is waiting for its Cat in the Hat moment. Certainly the material is there.
A writer I am, but a Seuss I am not.