the whole fucking iguana story

 

 

I don’t know why I dislike reptiles so much. Perhaps because they’re ugly—there’s no soft, furry face, no whiskers, no floppy ears to caress, no long lashes on big brown eyes. They crawl on the ground, they’re limbless, or as in the case of the iguana, equipped with tiny, Trump hands and hideously long toes. They are slimy, spiked, suspicious. They’re all poisonous, right? And iguanas have long, sharp teeth. Eco-system be damned. No reptile hugging activist, no truths as to their nature, their purpose, can change this girl’s opinion.

I live in a relatively bug-free environment (in part, due to heavy mosquito spraying) and leave my exterior doors (6 of them in a 700 sq. ft. space!) wide open. The breeze through my home is amazing—cooling, calming, just what one expects and appreciates on a tropical island. And I leave several of these doors open when I go to work, as I’m able to lock an entry gate into the property. Not any more. A VERY large (this was no lizard), green, spiky, monster of an iguana found his way into my bathroom, and lay in wait under the vanity to presumably eat me while I was pissing.

I had been home for several hours and in and out of the bathroom many times before discovering him. Why, I even cleaned up some unidentifiable slime off of the floor that I later learned was iguana shit; apparently, his pathetic, little limbs incapable of the climb to the toilet seat. But I’m running long; here’s what went down after I saw the bastard’s black and green striped tail sticking out from under the vanity. Oh, and it’s midnight and calling friends was not an option.

  • There’s an exterior door in the bathroom but it was locked from the inside. There is no key to open it from the outside, which meant I had to go into the bathroom and open the door so the little fucker could get out. One bowl of weed, two cigarettes later, the courage to go into the bathroom. Door open, wait outside and see if he comes out, 20 minutes, nothing.
  • I decided to prod him out with a broom, but one broom length was not enough distance between me and the critter so, fortunately, I had a second broom which I taped to the first. I now had at least 10 feet of broom, barely enough for my comfort but he had to go, this was my nest, this was home invasion. I swiped under the vanity, I knocked down the trash can to give him exit room and the bastard started to climb up the wall. Enough of this shit, called 911.
  • “There’s a very large iguana in my bathroom and I’m freaking out and I need someone to come over and get him outta here.”
  • The dispatcher paused. “I’ll call animal control, keep your phone close.” She knew, she knew what a horror this was.
  • Waiting outside again and finally, finally, the son of a bitch slimes his way out the door and into the night.
  • Called 911 again—all clear.

Sleep did not come soon or easily. First, there were doors to lock and re-lock and every conceivable hiding place to examine for additional iguanas. One never knows what size posse they travel in. Then, of course, with lights out, Where the Wild Things Are played non-stop in my brain. You think this is funny? You think iguanas are misunderstood, harmless, plant-eating creatures? Ha! Just wait till you’re sitting on the toilet and one starts eating your toes. Paradise my ass. More like Jurassic Park.

 

photo credit: swifty.com / NOT my toilet and my iguna was a little bit larger and fatter. Disgusting, right?

 

4 thoughts on “the whole fucking iguana story”

  1. Reminds me of the Iguana I had as a pet when I was young. His name was Igore or Iggy. Totally harmless and they a vegetarians so your toes we safe!!😀

Leave a Comment