When I found her partially under my induction cooktop, which I did not use that often back then, with half of her tailside body and hindlegs sticking out at the start of the winters, I was quite surprised, for lizards never hibernate at places easily accessible to human beings, it being just too risky, owing to our general cruelty and a particular dislike for lizards. And partially exposed under the induction cooktop on my kitchen platform, she lay as accessible and as exposed for a lizard as one could imagine. But perhaps lizards don’t have our imagination though I would still count on their reptilian instincts to conclude just the same anyway.
She remained there for two days, and then more. A massive risk for sure. She was being a great deal more trusting of me than any of her kind would be of any other human being in any set of circumstances whatsoever. But, I guess, the trust was not built overnight. It had been there for a while. It had been there since that morning when I had thrown the light switch on and found her idling on the kitchen platform the very first time.
Lizards, like most reptiles, have a remarkable ability to startle us and make us wonder, momentarily, what to do next. I am not exactly fond of lizards (who is?), so I asked her to leave with a swiping hand gesture and a verbal swoosh — the usual lizard-speak for us humans. She rushed away and slid under the round, wooden rolling board, on which sat, as it still does, my electric kettle, raised an inch and half above the platform to prevent its base from coming into contact with any moisture that might be on the platform. That’s exactly the place I was headed towards to boil water for my morning coffee. And there was a three-and-a-half-inch lizard right under the kettle. She was under no real danger, but I didn’t like the idea of a startled lizard launching herself at me.
So I tapped the edge of the board to politely indicate to her that it was probably not the best parking space for her. She dug her heels, or paws, or claws, or whatever it is lizards have, and refused to budge. And I had to make coffee and could not keep waiting, so I switched the kettle on and let the water boil, hoping that although the heat could not reach the little creature, the bubbling sound would prod her to slip away. To facilitate her exit, just in case she felt threatened by my presence, I left the kitchen and went to give my teeth their morning treatment.
After a short while, I returned with brushed teeth and a mini flashlight. By then the water had boiled, and the electric kettled had switched off automatically, as it was designed to do. But the lizard had stayed. I pulled a serving tray with upcurved edges and placed the cup in it so that when I poured water into my cup, there was no chance of the boiling-hot water snaking under the rolling board and hurting the guest that had invited herself to the under-kettle.
When I returned from court, the lizard was gone. I didn’t expect her to make an appearance again. But on the third or fourth day, she was right there, staring at me as I switched the kitchen lights on in the morning. And the same routine followed. She remained under the rolling board as long as I was in the kitchen. The mutual understanding continued. She would appear on the platform and then disappear for days. But whenever she was in the kitchen, my presence in the same general area meant that she had to stay under the rolling board, and she did that with religious discipline. At times, I would exit the kitchen for a longer duration and would find her on the platform on my return. I would stand in the doorway to the kitchen, waiting for her attention, and she would scurry back to her station as soon as she sensed my presence. She almost seemed to say, “Hey, sorry. Thought you were gone. Getting back in there, under that thing. Just a sec.”
I am not sure what’s the range of lizard’s eyesight, but she seemed to see me come whenever I approached the doorway of the kitchen unless she had her tail towards me, in which case I would stand right next to her, or make a sound, which was my way of telling her to run out of my sight. Invariably, it was the wooden rolling board under the electric kettle where she would house herself.
What was her business on the platform remained a mystery, for there were no flies or crumbs or anything there that could interest the creature, but she would be there every three-four days like old friends visit each other just to check if all was well. But she always remained out of my way, as per the unspoken mutual understanding that in my presence she was to remain out of sight, which meant under the board to her. And then, winters rolled in, and I found her hibernating under the induction device.
…to be continued
Originally published as part of my monthly column Street Lawyer in the February 2021 Issue of Lawyers Update (Vol XXVII, Part 2).
