Where I live, geckos are neither bright green, nor do they speak with a pseudo-British accent. Instead, they're sort of pink, or sometimes almost see-through. Cute though. Mostly they're pretty tiny, although on occasion, near the front porch light, you will see the odd fat gecko, full on nocturnal creepy crawlies.
Before we got a cat, it was harmless when they'd sneak past us into the house. They don't hurt anything and they'll take care of whatever little spiders or other insects we might sometimes have in the house. (I'm not making my house seem very appealing here.) I mean, I'm not raising a gecko farm (or some kind of disgusting place where all the bugs of the world come to gather), I don't want hundreds of the little things roaming around, but if there's one up too high on a wall, I'm not going out of my way to try and catch it and put it outside like I would if it were some kind of bug that had gotten into the house.
Anyway, back to the point... since we now have a cat, I have to be very careful not to let geckos in when I come in the house. It's damn near impossible sometimes though; the little buggers (as my boyfriend would say) are so quick! Lately though, I've been noticing things. Awful things. Tails and chewed up...pieces... in random places. I have a feeling it's not my grandmother eating them (Though she has complained about her stomach hurting lately. I should probably follow up on that!). She's old, but she's not that senile yet. At least, I don't think so!
No, I'm fairly certain it's my wily feline. The little devil. Thanks to her my house is now a killing field! Somehow, I can't get mad at her though. And I still let her give me kisses with that little gecko-tasting tongue of hers.
Me and Holly Golightly. She looks so thrilled about having her picture taken, eh? Awww... she was little then.
Here, she's a little bit older. But don't let her beautiful face fool you. She's a terror. A sweety, but a terror!
I'm sure she leapt at the camera just after this photo was taken. Look at her; ears back, eyes popping, and ready to pounce.
She's two-years-old now and I can't remember what life was like before her. Although I do remember a lot less dismembered geckos being strewn about the place. A lot less. Still, I suppose that's the price you have to pay for loving a wild thing. Or, at least a domesticated thing that believes herself to be a wild thing!