I found the corpse this morning.
In the middle of the floor of my sunroom, the body lay twisted as though suffering convulsions before expiring. Once so lively and active, now unmoving, lifeless, a carcass, a ghost of a former self.
I knew it might happen, but now am trying to decide how to handle the remains. Do I call someone? Or do I gather my courage and figure out a way to dispose of the corpse myself? I will not hold a funeral or a memorial service. I just want the body out of the sunroom—out of my house, out of my life.
Can I just toss it out the door to the outside?
Before you think me totally heartless, perhaps I should explain.
Several days ago, I saw something moving in my sunroom, which is separated from the house by a sliding glass door which I normally leave open. I slammed the sliding door shut, leaving me and my visitor on opposite sides. My hope was the intruder who had found its way in would find an exit. Or else the invader would die. Which, since I spied the corpse this morning, it did.
My visitor, a small green lizard, probably a baby, a type of lizard known as an anole, but everyone calls it a gecko. Several times during its stay in my sunroom, Faith, the cat, caught sight of it and wanted to go investigate.
Not a good idea. Three years ago, I had a cat who partially swallowed an anole. I found Tuxie with two back legs and a tail frantically thrashing with the rest of the lizard inside her mouth. Picking her up to get her outside where I hoped she would cough up the lizard, she opened her mouth and the would-be snack escaped. The last I saw it, it scurried into a storage closet where, if it stayed, it is a desiccated corpse by now. Other people have stories of the tail coming off and the lizard thus being in two pieces.
No, I did not want that visitor to become a plaything for the cat–or dinner. Furthermore, it was only in one room of the house–only in the sunroom, unless it found a way out and went home to its family.
It did escape. It escape these ‘mortal coils.’ What about an afterlife? Is there a heaven for lizards? Or will its spirit be reincarnated? And if it is reincarnated, what will it come back as?
These are questions too big to ponder when I have the serious dilemma of what to do with the corpse. I will not actually touch it. And am too cowardly to admit to anyone close by that I won’t touch it. My usual spray-it-with-Raid-and-then-vacuum-it-up technique to deal with unwanted visitors probably won’t work.
The door to the sunroom will stay closed as I figure out a plan. It is too hot to sit out there these days. I am going to make like Scarlett O’Hara.
Tomorrow is another day.
The dead lizard isn’t going anywhere.
Words Matter 