As you might have picked up from this blog, my cats tend to bring me all sorts of presents. Usually these gifts comprise cockroaches, and in particular the ones the size of infant elephants. These are the animals I absolutely despise to the most. Give me a rat, a mouse, a spider and I will be fine. Present me with one of those brown monsters with too many legs and too many antennas, and I will turn into a whimpering leaf.
My cockroach phobia even led to a hand fracture, so that you know. And a couple of weeks ago, I had to call on my neighbour after kitty cat dearest brought in one of those nasty creatures, after which she chased it under the bed. I simply could not get myself to remove the S.O.B. Pathetic, I know, and yes I am aware that I might need some professional help in this department.
Anyways. A few days ago I was sitting in the bath – contemplating life, love and the universe. My peaceful state of bliss-zen-chillness was acutely shattered by a distinct meow. Cat owners among you will know that cats have different meows for “I am hungry”, “I want attention'”, “Leave me the hell alone”, “Ooh! Nice bird!”, and “Mom / Dad! I have something for you!”. The latter is a combination of growling, meowing, and purring.
I jumped from the bath like a bat out of hell, almost shattered my skull on the geyser (which conveniently is hanging above the bath) in the process. A cockroach in the bathroom – with me in it and nowhere to go and hide – sounded more nerve wrecking than … than … well, everything really.
*Yes! I need help! I get it, okay?*
But it was not a cockroach. It was a baby gecko – 2cm long, unharmed but absolutely petrified of its time being clenched in between cat teeth the size of its tiny paws. Poor little thing. I managed to take some photographs before releasing it back into the wild – far away from my ferocious feline.