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Gecko on front porch

This has got to stop. I don’t care how clean and tidy the place is, I’m running out of food.

She’s only been here for a week and she’s pretty much ruined everything. No more crumbs around the toaster. No more plates left drying beside the couch. No more empty glasses of coke overrun by ants.

Nothing.

Nothing for them. Nothing for me. They’re not interested. The flies aren’t interested. The cockroaches aren’t interested. One week and they’ve all gone. And now I’m going to have to leave too unless I do something drastic.

I like it here too. I’ve been here for years, gotten used to the easy life and steady supply of food. Why would I want to go anywhere else? He never bothered me. No: he liked me. He purposefully led the ants to me that time by creating a crumb trail with burnt bits of toast.

Now what do I have? Nothing. And I’m beginning to starve. She bats away the flies before they’ve even flown through the door.

I’m going to have to go next door, leave him behind no matter how much it hurts. I’m not even sure he wants me here anymore so maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe my food supply would be even better. Maybe they have a spider infestation or something.

Though – no. I can’t go next door. It’d be even worse. That one with the glasses. I’ll never forget that. That’s why I ended up here. Can’t procreate without a tail to show off.

Hit! Me! A little gecko. Okay, I can harm a fly, but isn’t that the point and why I’ve been here for so long? He wanted me to eat them. He wanted me to have food to keep the flies and ants away from him otherwise he wouldn’t have left the food and drink out.

Anyway, he wasn’t that filthy. It only happened every so often when I was feeling tired. But now she’s got him cleaning everything up immediately, there’s no chance for the ants to get excited never mind me.

What am I going to do? Leave? And go where exactly? But if I stay I’ll starve. I know I will unless she goes away, but then how likely is that?

Maybe I should try a new house. Cut him off just like he’s cut me. See. Even when I croak he doesn’t pay attention anymore. He keeps his head down, does as he’s told, washes the dishes, keeps his eye on her.

But where am I to go? I’m too old, too tired. I can’t go gallivanting about anymore. And, anyway, what’s outside these doors? Birds. That’s what. Rats. Cats. Mice. All eyeing me up the way I used to eye ants up. I’ll die immediately, but then I’ll die here too. Starve.

Should I take the risk? Is it worth taking? Or should I just hope and pray things change. That last girl didn’t stay long. But she didn’t keep clean either. She was worse than him. God, I wish she could’ve stayed longer. I’ve never eaten so well.

Right, I’ll give it a bit longer, keep my eye out for an opening, have a good rummage. See. Look there. Coming in through the patio doors. I can get that once it’s settled. And then maybe a few moths will come in later too. It’s hot tonight and if he leaves the doors open and the lights on I might get a feast.

See. He’s not going to close them. Maybe he still does love me. He’s just playing at being cold. He must’ve heard my croak after all. Maybe I can risk showing my face.

Jesus! Quick! Move! Where did that come from? No. No. That’s no good. What was that noise? God. Hide! Hide! That didn’t sound good at all. Where did that come from? She wasn’t moving at all, then – bang.

What’s she doing? Shouting, wailing. I better get behind the fridge. He’ll never come back here. He never used to. What? He will? She’s making him. Jesus, it’s moving.

Where to? Up the wall. Behind the air-con. I can’t do anything to her up here and she can’t do anything to me. Not that I could do anything to her anyway, but.

Breathe. Breathe. Calm down. He’s not following me. He’s saying something to her. Calming her down. Good. Everything’s going quiet. This is a good spot too. Something’ll come along at some point and I can have a little snack. I’ll be fine.

God, talk about an over-reaction, though maybe. No. I can’t. It’ll never work. He’ll turn against me for sure then.

Would he, though? I’ve known him much longer than she has. He opened the door for me. He called off the pursuit when she headed for the chair to get up to the air-con. He wants me to feed, and if I – well, she’ll never come back.

Never. And think of the noise she made. She wouldn’t be able to control herself, but I would. She’d start flailing about and I’d know exactly where to go. I didn’t lose my tail for nothing.

Her or me. That’ll be the ultimatum. It’s a risk, but so’s going outside. So’s doing nothing.

No. I’ll wait, bide my time. They’ll be going to bed soon. Look. He’s turning the lights off even now.

Slowly. Be cautious. Creep. One foot then the other along the ceiling and then into their room.

Look. There she is. On her back. Eyes closed. I’ll just sit beside her and then move to her face. When she wakes up you just watch. She’ll be helpless. Nothing like the woman with the glasses. I’ll never starve again. Just you wait and see.

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4 thoughts on “Desperate Measures

  1. Are these stories autobiographical by any chance or am I missing something? Reasonable and polite replies please!

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