After Dark: Lizards and Botox

I rather enjoy sitting on the back patio at night, laying back in the hammock and staring up into the corrogated steel ceiling, watching the geckos go about their business.

A gecko is like a newt (not Gingrich). They are about three inches long from head to tail and are kind of a very light olive in colour. They creep along the supporting timers, or the walls, or the ceiling, hunting for their next meal, which seems to be insects. My studies indicate that moths are a tasty favourite, and multiple geckos can be seen near the bare light bulb, which must be the gecko equivalent of a fast food drive-though (or “drive-thru” as they say in Amerika).

A gecko’s voice sounds like a birds’ chirp – usually a series of five or six chirps at a time – but I can never tell which gecko is speaking at any given time, or what the meaning of their outburst might be. Based on their behaviour, I would suspect that they alternate between “stay away from my moth” and “roll over honey, it’s lovin’ time”.

While they are not frightening, there are a lot of them, most of which crawl about in the shadows. Often, I will catch a movement from the corner of my eye (though my eyes are actually roundish, really), and will turn my head just in time to see only the small tip of the tail disappear into a dark recess, like a suspenseful hint of a monster in a horror movie. Perhaps I should be listening to Ennio Morricone on the CD player while doing this.

Last night, a gecko extended himself suddenly from his upside down perch in order to snap at a large moth. It succeeded in catching the body of the moth in it’s mouth but lost it’s grip on the ceiling and fell seven feet to the concrete below. The still fluttering wings of the moth did nothing to slow the descent, as far as I could see, but upon impact the gecko righted itself and trotted off into the shadows to dine.

I could have spent the time watching television with Colin and Roberto, but they were watching “Extreme Makeover”, one of those “reality” shows that are actually likely propoganda funded by industry, this one by the Rhinoplasty Professionals of Amerika, or some such body.

Having grown up in the 60’s and 70’s, reality television for me was “Gilligan’s Island” and “The Brady Bunch”, and they were bizarre enough that anything created since seems quite milquetoast. I’ll stick to the geckos, thanks.