According
to enough Internet sites that I am confident that I am not deceived by a renegade Internet editor, in Hawaii the residents believe that the "household gecko"
brings good luck to the home. If that is
correct, The Memsahib and I are blessed several times over.
When
darkness falls, one, two, or three geckos – interestingly, never more than
three – crawl out onto the underside of the eave that extends over our patio. When I turn on the patio light, they're
exposed and usually will hang around for awhile before they scurry – actually,
more of a serpentine waddle – into the cracks where the eave meets the brick. I read that they're looking for insects. I've never seen one other insect within
gobbling distance of one of these guys on the barren ceiling, but there they were,
night after night.
Last
night, for the first time, there were four:
They
appear to be Mediterranean House Geckos, one of two species found in Texas that
tend to make their homes in, well, homes.
I was delighted at first, but that fourth gecko .
. . obviously, I was dealing here with more than
a happy household of mama, papa, and baby gecko.
In
fact, they're prolific little reptiles.
Which
inspired a vision of a growing, then teeming, colony of concupiscent little
geckos with nothing better to do during the day than make lots more geckos.
When
I was a lad, I was deeply influenced by the growing menace represented by the increasing
number of "The Birds" in Hitchcock's classic. Then, suddenly, I saw it. I would be out on the patio, chewing on a
stogie and reading a cheap mystery on my Nook.
A creak – a crack. And the eave
would open up and an avalanche of geckos, accompanied by untold tons of gecko
poop would rain down on me.
But
they are cute little fellas.
Wish
me luck.
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