A valid question. The last time the Earth moved under me wasn’t because the guy I was banging at the time was any good but because some idiot without a license to operate heavy machinery struck a utility pipe while doing construction.

Leo pursed his lips as he waited for our clients to stop fighting over who would exit first. “You forgot the third possibility.”

I hadn’t. I had purposely chosen to not mention giant tunnelling worms. That was my boss’s obsession, not mine.

My client, Bruno, won the battle at the door and skedaddled first, followed by Marie—another regular—who didn’t seem to notice or care she’d emerged topless. Then again, someone who wanted tattoos on her breasts intended to show them off.

Outside the shop, people filled the streets as they evacuated businesses and homes before any collapsed. Many faces wore looks of fear, but some held curiosity. A cacophony filled the air comprised of the rattling structures, rocking cars, and heavily vibrating signs. Underlying that was another sound that kind of reminded me of a train roaring by. It caused the same booming effect, only we had no rails nearby.

The purple-haired Kalypso, who answered our phones and acted as our receptionist, held out her arms and slightly bent her knees, squealing, “Ride the wave! Whoo!”

An avid surfer, I never understood why she chose to settle in Terrace, British Columbia where the closest place to toss down a board required a more than twenty-hour drive to Tofino.

“Those idiots in parliament finally started a war. We’ve been bombed!” someone yelled a few paces from me while pointing across the way.

A glance in the indicated direction showed a billowing cloud of black smoke in the distance.

Leo leaned close to murmur, “That’s not a bomb. The Tseax Cone erupted.”

My brow furrowed. “Can’t be. They’ve been saying for ages that volcano was dead.”

“Guess they were wrong.”

My boss might have figured it out first, but it didn’t take long before others realized what happened and panic ignited.

It started with one person screaming, “We’re going to die. Run for your lives.”

Then another yodeled, “The end is nigh.”

In seconds, the stampede commenced.

Having never been one to sheepishly follow the herd, I shifted so my back pressed against the tattoo shop. It seemed safer than getting tangled in the mob moving in a dense wave on the street. I’d been to concerts where that kind of thing ended up badly—a.k.a. trampled. I preferred to not get trod upon. At least the ground had stopped shaking. However, the ominous dark cloud in the distance grew and spread.

A nicotine addict, Leo pulled out a cigarette—the home-rolled kind with a little something green added to the tobacco—and took a long pull before drawling, “Damn. Never thought I’d see Tseax erupt.”

“Me either.” I frowned. “I thought it was supposed to be dormant.” I’d lived in the area my whole life and while the local Nisga’a tribes told stories about the last time Tseax erupted a few hundred years ago, it had been considered a rare thing unlikely to happen again.

“Mother nature loves to fuck with know-it-all scientists,” Leo stated, puffing away.

The lack of shaking didn’t improve the hysteria level infesting people. Cars revved and tires screeched as they tried to speed away only to have to scream to a stop because people were jaywalking on the road. The chaotic desperation caused instant gridlock.

“Doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere soon,” I stated while glancing at Leo.

“Nope.” He offered me a drag from his medicinal cigarette.

Why not? I took a long pull and exhaled before saying, “Think we need to worry?”

“Depends on how bad the eruption is and how far it spreads. Given we’re sixty clicks away, ash clouds are probably of more concern than a lava flow.”

“I thought magma could roll at, like, speeds of up to thirty kilometers an hour?”

“In the right conditions and usually because the volcano is steep. Tseax ain’t that tall.”

“But still managed to wipe out a few Nisga’a tribes that last time,” I reminded.

“Yeah, the lava reached the river where they had their villages, but it took a few days. They say the high death toll most likely came from the fumes poisoning the air.” Leo pursed his lips as he took another drag. “Chances are anyone within fifty or more clicks will have to vacate their homes until the lava specialists figure out what’s going on.”

My lips pinched as I watched the dark smudge in the sky spreading. “Fuck me. I guess I’m not going home tonight.” I lived about thirty kilometers outside Terrace, in a trailer inherited from my grandmother. Nothing fancy, and I rather liked my remote spot and lack of neighbors. But that plot of land would likely be within the quarantined radius.

“You can bunk at my place if you need to. You know I got the space,” Leo offered. He lived in the opposite direction, about twenty or so minutes outside of the city. My head-to-toe inked boss might look like he should be living in a cramped shithole apartment in the bad part of town, but Leo came from money. His inherited home was a ranch situated on a few hundred acres. Not that he personally farmed. He paid people to harvest his fruit trees and rented out his barns and land for grazing. But the best part? My paranoid boss had the most insane security system in place to keep his shit secure.

“Might be we’re worrying for nothing.”

Saying it aloud jinxed it. My phone began blaring along with everyone else’s in the vicinity. The emergency alert launched quicker than expected and advised anyone receiving the message to evacuate. It went on to list all the places that might be in the path of the coming ash cloud—and yeah, my home was smack dab in there. The warning text also had words like calm, orderly, don’t panic. Might as well have been fuel, given what ignited in its aftermath.

If I thought people were frenzied before, they doubled, tripled, quadrupled down. People randomly began wailing. A few hit their knees and prayed. Those caught in unmoving cars honked and when that didn’t move traffic thought getting out to yell, pound hoods, and shake fists would work. We also heard glass smashing and a glance showed the window of the jewelry shop broken and someone slipping inside. Why was it calamities immediately brought out the looters?

Needless to say, despite the alert advising us to leave, Leo and I took our time while the rabidly worried sorted themselves out. Along with Kalypso, we went inside the shop and shut down all the machines before grabbing everything that would fit into the back of Leo’s Suburban, which ended up being a shit ton, given the massive space. Kalypso rescued our collection of cacti, loading them into her Volkswagen beetle. Whereas my vintage Yamaha Virago 750, with its saddlebags, carried our albums of designs and past artwork.

When the streets unclogged, and with the cloud creeping closer, we vacated the shop and the city of Terrace, driving in a line behind Leo, who had to maneuver in a few spots as people who ran out of gas or encountered engine trouble abandoned their cars. Despite feeling like a bit of an ass, we ignored those trying to wave us down. I’d seen apocalypse movies. I knew what might happen. A good Samaritan would stop, offer some aid, and find themselves stranded when their vehicle got stolen.

Luckily, the evacuation zone remained just short of Leo’s ranch. With more than ten bedrooms, it had more than enough space for me, Kalypso, and a few of Leo’s friends.

While the Tseax Cone stopped spewing after one day, it took a bit longer before Terrace and the environs were considered safe for return.

I’m not ashamed to admit I spent that week mostly drunk and high. Being a bit of an end-of-times nut, Leo actually kept a ridiculously large stash of booze and dope along with food. Quality shit, I might add. Good times were had, but the fun eventually ended and I couldn’t help a bit of dread as I wondered at the state of my home.

Upon seeing it, my first thought was it could have been worse. White and gray powder did cover some parts of the property, the wind having blown it into drifts, and it kicked up in puffs when I tracked through. I wore a bandanna over my mouth and nose to avoid breathing any of the dust. Sure, the news claimed those with healthy respiratory systems would likely suffer no ill effect, but I took no chances. My lungs might be tainted by nicotine and Mary Jane, but even I had a line with my health that I didn’t cross. Call me weird. I was okay with it.

No lava reached my place. However, a surprising number of lava rocks had bombed the property. The worst damage appeared to be on the roof of my trailer, where the biggest volcanic missile landed. It left a huge dent, but luckily did not pierce it. Inside my trailer, only a fine layer of dust had penetrated and I got to work scrubbing everything down and bagging the clothing and bedding that I’d have to wash. At least I didn’t need to rely on a laundromat. My lean-to held an ancient, gold-colored washer and dryer which made a god-awful racket when run, but unlike today’s newer models, they could take a beating and keep on working. I ran a rinse cycle on it first to make sure it was actually clean before I started a load.

The outside didn’t require me to do much because an hour after I arrived, the rain came. It drenched the area for the next two days and cleansed the land. Or as my grandma would have said, That fucker God is having a piss. She didn’t hold religion in high esteem and called it a bunch of kooky nonsense.

Me? I identified as agnostic. I remained open to belief but wanted proof. Old books written a zillion years ago and old men in fancy robes didn’t convince me.

After the week of partying, I enjoyed the time alone, although I did also itch to get back to work. While Terrace had been cleared for people to return, the tattoo shop hadn’t yet reopened. Leo hired some cleaners to come in and thoroughly sterilize the place. Last thing he wanted was a lawsuit because someone claimed they got an infection. We’d be busy when we reopened though. Our website had been bombarded with requests for new ink, many of them volcano themed. I’d be using this time off to create some designs for clients to choose from. The drone footage of Tseax proved inspiring. The cone showed rivulets of magma flowing erratically in a patchwork down its sides.

When the rain finally relented, I exited my spotless trailer and began tidying my yard. And by tidy, I meant gathering all the rocks that landed in it, from pebble-sized to fist. I tossed them all into my firepit. I saved the one on the roof for last since I had to climb and I really didn’t like heights. Hated them so much I debated leaving it there, but I knew that lava stones tended to be porous and with all the rain soaking it, might get heavy enough to actually crack the top of my trailer. Last thing I needed was a leak.

So I put on my big girl panties—thongs for the curious, or as granny called them, ass flossers—and clutched that ladder tight as I climbed. I didn’t look anywhere but at my hands as I crawled to the massive dent that held the largest stone of all. Unlike the other jagged chunks, this one, while rough on the outside, was oval-shaped and too big to easily carry down so I tossed it.

To my surprise, it didn’t crack. I placed it in the firepit with the others and then grimaced. It stood out due to its size. To break it up, I grabbed my hatchet and used the blunt end to hammer at it. A few pieces of stone flaked off, but the thing remained whole for the most part. Maybe a few fires would soften it up enough it would split apart.

Over the next few weeks, I worked my ass off and came home exhausted. Meaning I did little but slump into a chair with a cold brew. Given the nice summer evenings, I spent my wind down time outside by the firepit, which I used to make dinner instead of my stove because the air conditioner worked like shit and I wasn’t about to make the trailer any hotter. I kept my meals simple. Weenies on a skewer. Burgers on a grill. Steak. Steak. And more steak. I did so love my meat.

And so did the creature that stole food off my plate!

Chapter 2

Let me back up a second.

There I sat, comfortably ensconced in an Adirondack—which for the unknowing is the most comfortable outdoor chair you can have—with a big, toasty fire going, hot enough the big lava rock that sat in the middle of the pit glowed a bright orange.

I’d treated myself to a nice fatty ribeye, which I’d seasoned and threaded onto a skewer and held in the crackling flames. I like my meat singed on the outside, the outer fat crispy but the inside red and juicy. When I had it just the way I liked it, I stood and slapped it on a plate just as something in the fire went crack and loud hissing ensued.

I whirled with my plate still in hand, and sure enough, the big rock had finally split into chunks. It must have had moisture trapped inside given the steam that erupted.

Cool.

I plopped back in my chair, plate balanced on my knees, and grabbed my can of Coors from the cupholder. As I swigged, the thief struck. A clawed paw reached out and snagged my steak.

I blinked. Steak was still gone. Not cool. I’d been looking forward to eating it.

My annoyance vanished as I saw what stole it. A lizard the size of a kitten sat on the edge of the fire pit, which made its theft of the steak—bigger than it was—even more comical.

Until it scarfed down that entire hunk of meat.

I mean, like how? The steak had to weigh as much, if not more, than the little reptile. Yet its jaw essentially unhinged and nom, nom, bye-bye dinner.

It belched more loudly than expected, given its diminutive size. I almost laughed at its suddenly very rounded belly.

The lizard then proceeded to speak, or so my beer-addled brain insisted, chattering in a steady stream that made no sense, but almost resembled a language.

“Slow down, little fella,” I crooned, kind of fascinated. British Columbia had its share of reptilian wildlife, but despite being born and raised in this area, I’d never seen a creature like this who seemed unafraid of fire. I worried about its perch so close to the flames. Despite it stealing my dinner, I’d hate to see the little fella barbequed.

It continued to harangue me in its chirping lizard voice while waving its paws. Or was it claws? I couldn’t tell you the proper term, but it was cute.

It patted its belly and my eyes widened. That I understood. “Sorry, that was my entire dinner. There’s no more.” I pointed to my plate and shook my head. Again, I blamed the booze for thinking I was conversing with the lizard. Or maybe I’d accidentally tossed something on the fire and was currently tripping, as in gone on a spiritual, hallucinogenic journey. Granny used to indulge in those. Usually naked. Good thing we didn’t have neighbors.

“Speaking of dinner, some of us are still hungry. Guess I’ll have to see what’s in the fridge.”

Not much. The grocery stores had been double tapped, first with having to toss a bunch of stuff in case of contamination, and then again when their stock got wiped out by people panic buying. It reminded me of the toilet paper shortage during the Covid lockdowns.

I’d lucked out on the steak only because I knew a farmer. In exchange for meat and eggs, I kept a running credit for Bart so he could get his dream tattoo. Currently, he had his left arm inked to look like a Nisga’a totem. We’d be doing his right arm next, which meant lots more steaks for me.

As I rose from my seat, I chugged my beer and crushed the can before tossing it in the recycling bin I kept by the trailer door. I entered my cramped home and sighed. I already knew my fridge only held a hunk of molding cheese and a potato growing eyes. At least the freezer had ice cream. Wouldn’t be the first time I did dessert for dinner—or breakfast.

I snared the half-eaten quart along with a spoon and collapsed on the plaid-covered bench that some would generously call a couch. I wasn’t one of those people. I could have retrofitted the trailer like some folks did, tearing out the built-in furniture to replace it with the real thing, but I’d been saving my money and effort because I wanted to build myself a real home. A place without wheels that didn’t rock in strong winds, made of something other than aluminum and vinyl. Granny used to scoff at my dream, saying she preferred the freedom to live wherever she wanted, never realizing the irony in having spent her entire life in one spot.

Scratch.

I glanced at the door with a frown.

Scri-t-t-ch.

The odd noise came again and my curious ass, which obviously never learned any lessons from horror movies, went to check it out. I opened to find Mr. Lizard on the threshold. It hopped right on in and scouted the place as if it belonged.

“Well, hello again. Making yourself at home, are we?”

The reptile waddled about, sniffing and craning, peering at everything. I could have shooed it out, but with my mellow buzz, it seemed like a bunch of effort for a harmless creature. Besides, it was kind of entertaining.

As I sucked ice cream off my spoon, I studied it. The grayish leathery skin and its sinuous tail that swished. It had two nubs along its back and when it bent over to sniff under my stove, dangly bits that marked it a boy. And before anyone comments, I thought reptiles kept their dicks and balls tucked. Maybe this little fella preferred airing his out.

I finished my ice cream and rose to put the empty container in the garbage when the little critter whipped around and cocked its head. A forked tongue flicked, and it jabbered.

“I don’t understand,” I stated with a shrug.

I swear to fuck, it looked annoyed. It pointed at me. No wait, the ice cream carton.

“You wanna taste, little fella?” If it wanted to lick it clean, go ahead. I just hoped it wasn’t lactose intolerant. Cleaning up lizard diarrhea didn’t exactly scream fun.

The lizard cautiously stuck its head in the carton and must have liked what he tasted because next thing I knew his whole body disappeared, and the carton rolled around on the floor as the little fella went to town.

Entertaining but not enough to keep me awake. A yawn cracked my jaw and I stretched. “Bedtime for me. I’ve got a full back tattoo to do tomorrow.” In other words, a full freaking day hunched over with intense focus. I needed my rest. My pillow called and I answered, falling asleep quickly, waking only when my alarm went off.

However, rather than roll out of bed, I lay still, for my new friend lay snuggled against me, his tail wrapped around his body. And was it me, or did he seem bigger? Probably needed to shit out that massive steak.

Little fella protested when I shifted him to get out of bed, making a growling, protesting noise.

“Calm down. You can stay there if you want, but some of us need to work and pay the bills,” I grumbled.

My dumb ass then proceeded to tuck my blanket around it. Dumb because who left a wild animal in their home while they went to work? I’d probably return to everything chewed to shit and lizard poop and pee stinking up the place, but call me a softie, I didn’t have the heart to toss him outside.

I made myself coffee and slathered butter on an everything bagel—stale since I’d forgotten I had it in the breadbox. Since I had two, I also toasted an extra for the little fella and left it on a plate on the floor because I just knew he’d be hungry when he got up. I also put down some paper towels by the door. Could you piddle pad train a lizard? Guess we’d see.

With my goggles over my eyes and wearing my leather pants, jacket, and shit kickers, I headed into work on my motorcycle, my platinum hair streaming. No, I didn’t wear a helmet. Yes, that was against the law. Did I care? Not really. I had a friend who survived a motorcycle accident because he wore a lid. Ended up a quadriplegic. I admired his resiliency in dealing with his disability even as I knew I’d lack the same fortitude. Hence why I took chances.

The road had more traffic than usual heading away from the city. Despite the evacuation and trauma of the nearby exploding volcano, Terrace had never been busier. Crazy ass folks came in from all over, wanting to see the lava rivulets up close. It led to more walk-ins at our shop than normal, which ended up being good for me since my appointment had to cancel, changing his mind about wanting his girlfriend’s face on his back since he caught her cheating with his sister. Sounded like a Jerry Springer special to me.

When I got a break in people wanting on-the-spot mini tattoos memorializing their visit—most opting for volcanoes, with one client having me make the spewing rocks into hearts—I popped out to run an errand. If Little Fella was going to be sticking around, I should probably invest in some lizard-appropriate food. Didn’t they eat like insects and stuff? Sure, it scarfed down a steak and loved ice cream, but that likely was not healthy. Not to mention, I couldn’t afford to feed it thirty dollar steaks every day. Given its carnivorous proclivity, I wondered what kind of lizard I’d found. An internet search of local wildlife didn’t show anything resembling my little fella.

Luckily for me, the pet store up the street, Leaping Lizards, specialized in reptiles. I walked in and wrinkled my nose. The place stank of animal, most likely because of the many glass aquariums featuring a variety of scaly critters. I browsed the many available species: geckos, bearded dragons, snakes. None looked like my friend at home.

“Can I help you?”

The deep voice had me whirling and looking up. Way up. A barrel-chested giant with arms possibly as wide as my waist stood behind me, wearing plaid and jeans. A bearded lumberjack with a nametag that said Maddox.

“Hey, there. So weird thing, I found a lizard at my place and was looking for something to feed him.”

He arched a brow. “Chances are it can feed itself. The lizards in these parts aren’t domesticable.”

“Yeah, well tell that to the little fella that insisted on coming inside my trailer and snuggled me all night long.”

That claim brought a frown to the ruggedly handsome face. It should be noted I had a thing for big, burly dudes, not that I’d dated any in a while. My last boyfriend, a biker I’d met while tattooing him, turned out to be a dick who stole all the cash from my cookie jar and fled town when the cops came looking for him about some stolen catalytic converters. What could I say, I knew how to pick them.

“Do you know what species you found?”

I shook my head. “Nah, and Google’s not being too helpful in that regard either. And before you ask, I forgot to take a pic, but he’s about this big,” I held out my hands. “Grayish skin. Lumpy back, talkative and bossy.”

“Lizards don’t talk.”

“Not in words,” I scoffed. “But definitely making noise at me. Anyhow, I’m here because I need some food and shit.”

“Kind of hard to figure out its diet without knowing the species.” Maddox pursed his lips. “But I can probably set you up with some generic stuff. Given the description, it’s most likely a Northern Alligator Lizard. They tend to like insects and stuff. Do you have a terrarium?”

I snorted. “No, and I’d rather not cage it.”

“Then you run the risk of it escaping.”

The reply had me shrugging. “Which would be its choice. I’m not even sure it will be there when I get back.”

He gave me an odd look. “Exactly where do you live that lizards can come and go?”

“I’ve got a trailer outside of town. Used to belong to my granny. While it’s fairly cozy, I know for a fact it’s got holes because the mice somehow keep finding a way in.” And this despite the many traps I’d set over the years.

“In that case, there’s a strong chance it will be gone by the time you get home. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone domesticating a NAL.” He shortened the name.

“Assuming it is, what do you suggest I feed it?” I left out any mention of the steak and ice cream Little Fella scarfed down. Maddox already seemed appalled enough as it was. No need for him to lose his eyebrows completely in disbelief.

“Let me get you a few things.” The big man moved confidently around the store, and I leaned against a display watching because I just couldn’t make it fit. He looked like he should be chopping wood or fixing cars, not working in a pet store. Heck, with that ass and the biceps bulging his shirt, he would have looked good as a fireman or a stripper.

Maddox dumped an armful of shit on the counter by the register. He pointed and named each item. “Dried crickets, although I do have live ones if you find your lizard not happy about them being dead. Canned worms. They’re a little juicier so you might want to feed them to it on a towel or something washable. We’ve got some powdered vitamin to make sure it doesn’t get mineral deficient. You’ll want to make sure it’s got access to water as well. Do you need a dish?”

My lips curved as I said, “Pretty sure I’ve got enough empty margarine containers to figure something out.” Grandma didn’t believe in buying plastic receptacles but rather reused the ones she got with things like sour cream, yoghurt, and other dairy products. When one cracked or melted in the microwave, she recycled it and pulled out the next. By the time she died, she’d collected so many I had to purge but kept up the practice. After all, I’d already paid for the container, why not use it?

“This should get you started. If the lizard sticks around, pop back with a picture and we’ll confirm its species. Maybe talk you into some live insects,” he said with a naughty grin.

“Like fuck. I am not having some grasshoppers and stuff loose in my trailer. Bad enough I’ve got ants each summer.”

As Maddox rang up my purchases, he glanced at me. “I’ve seen you around. You work nearby?”

“Yeah, down the street. I am an artist at Holy Inkredible.”

“The tattoo place. Neat name. I hear you do good work.”

“Only the best,” I boasted. “You got any ink?”

He shook his head. “Nah. You?”

Guess he couldn’t tell given I wore long sleeves and pants. “A few.” I downplayed the number. Some dudes got weird about girls being tatted up.

“You do them yourself?”

“No. It’s not easy to work on your own skin. Leo does mine. And I do his.”

“Leo is…”

“My boss.” Although, I had to wonder why he asked. Fishing to see if I was single, perhaps? Hell, yeah. I wouldn’t mind taking Maddox for a ride.

“That will be forty-three seventy-nine. Cash or credit?”

“Cash.” I handed over two twenties and a ten and shoved the change in my pocket.

He paper-bagged my purchase and handed it to me. “Here you go. I’m Maddox, by the way. Or Mad, as my friends call me.”

“Are you an angry man?” I teased.

His grin flashed bright and panty-wetting. “Only if you abuse an animal or steal food from my plate.”

“I’m with you on both. I’m Pip.” I didn’t mention the fact it was short for Philippa—which I hated with a fucking passion. Mom named me after my deadbeat dad, a man who left before I was born but eventually returned, not to become a father. Oh no. He convinced my mom to abandon me at the age of three and run away with him. She didn’t even hesitate. Granny raised me and I thanked fuck for that fact. Last I heard, my parents were down in South America grifting. I only knew because my mother called to beg for some dough. No hello how are you, just straight up I’m broke, can you send me some cash? I doubted I’d hear from her again since I told her she could take her demand and shove it up her twat. She called me ungrateful. I told her she could kiss my ass after I took a dump. Needless to say, that conversation ended abruptly.

“Nice to meet you, Pip. Good luck with your lizard.”

It would have been funny, only he meant it quite seriously. “Thanks, Mad.” Yeah, I used the nickname because it was cute.

I spent another two hours working, mostly doing up sketches and setting up appointments before heading home. When I entered the trailer, I half expected Little Fella to be gone, but the moment I opened the door, he stood on the couch and chirped at me.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you’re probably hungry. Look. I got you some yummies.” I grimaced at the smell and sight of the bugs as I put them on a plate on the floor.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one less than impressed. Little Fella took one sniff and gagged. Wait, could lizards gag?

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t eat it either. I brought home some sausage to cook up on the firepit. Wanna try some of that?”

Little Fella did. He scarfed down a whole fat wiener and then eyed the other half of mine. Where the fuck was he putting it? He also greatly enjoyed the marshmallows I roasted. I ate three. He, well, he ate the rest when I wasn’t looking. Apparently, I didn’t cook them fast enough so he got into the bag and next thing I knew—gone.

When we went inside, I stepped over the clean paper towel—which made me wonder if Little Fella had left me a surprise somewhere—and flipped on the television in the bedroom. My one of only three free channels had Jurassic Park playing, which Little Fella seemed to greatly enjoy. He sat on my lap and didn’t turn his gaze once from the screen.

Once more, we slept together, and when I rose the next day, he remained in my bed. Since he’d enjoyed the bagel I’d left the day before, I made him another—from a fresh pack I’d bought—and refilled his water dish—a.k.a. repurposed margarine tub. I also turned on the TV in my living area and left it running since it had fascinated him so much.

I went to work, debated popping by to see Maddox, realized I had no reason since I’d forgotten to take a pic, and with no plausible excuse to swing by—because I wasn’t buying more bugs—ended up just going home.

Being low on supplies, I hit the grocery store for more stuff and bought enough my saddlebags bulged. Little Fella would be eating like a prince tonight as I’d grabbed us a rotisserie chicken and some cupcakes—that would likely have most of their icing plastered to the container. Wanna bet my little lizard would love licking it off?

With my arms laden with my purchases, I struggled to open the door. It swung open and I smiled at Little Fella perched on the couch, watching television. He craned his head to eye me and rather than the nonsensical chirping of before said quite distinctly if with an accent, “Woman, I’m hungry. Feed me.”