Giving The Small Lizard Some Exposure

The little lizard is not normally as visible as the larger one: he skulks up the back of the garden or dashes across it incredibly fast, where the bigger one tends to remain, statuelike, in a single position.

But this time I nearly trod on him as I was heading down the back steps to the laundry:

I have my suspicions that he’s holding his front foot like that deliberately. After I nearly stepped on him and then dashed back inside for my camera, I bet he twisted it round quickly so that he could give me a plaintive look implying that his mobility is impaired and that I should look where I’m going.

His mobility isn’t impaired, of course: he rapidly became unhappy about having his picture taken, and hared off down the garden. But you cannot ever truly escape the madwoman with the camera who hasn’t updated her blog in three days.

I would cue a maniacal laugh here, but I’m worried that’s it’s becoming habitual to me. And there’s nothing worse than when your cliches become habitual.

(Unless it’s when your cloches becomes habitual, which is what I originally typed.)