Picture the scene: It was almost bed-time and Grant had gone into the kitchen to make tea, I was sitting in the lounge, clothed only in my nightie (I know, too much info, but it's relevant to the story, so bear with me), reading a book. Next thing a gecko fell off a picture frame, right down the back of my nightie. Oh my word! For a moment I completely lost my marbles, ripped my nightie off and began to wave it around my head, shrieking and dancing around the middle of the floor. Grant came tearing into the lounge and stood gazing at me open-mouthed. Well wouldn't you? I could just see him thinking "Finally, she wants to play stripper fantasy games - I like it!" It took quite a while for him to get out of me exactly what I was up to, I was completely speechless for at least 5 minutes. So I don't have a great track record with geckoes.
Now that we have cats, I am presented with gecko corpses on a daily basis. To my mind, the only thing worse than a live gecko is a dead gecko or a piece of one. Eeuuuuw! The cats just love to hunt them, they'll go to enormous lengths to stalk them (see below) with an incredibly high success rate.
Pepsi on top of the grandfather clock.
Last night I was sitting in the lounge chatting to my Dad and Grant, unconsciously playing with something with my bare toes, picking it up, rubbing it under my feet (truly I have no idea quite why I was doing this...need to see a shrink!) We'd been sitting there for ages, when we got up to go through to the dining room. As I stood up I suddenly became aware that I had been playing with something with my toes, I bent down to see what it was and there it was, between my toes ......... shudder, shudder, shudder.... I realised that all this time I had been fondling a large, dead gecko with my feet. Total freak out! These great big shudders kept going right through my body - I still get freaked out just thinking about it. EEEEeeeek!