Showering
after a very long Sunday midday march in the neighborhood and after some protein
recovery intake, with a big mug of iced beer in hand I took advantage of a lull
in the rain to sit out on the downstairs courtyard stoop to give some time and
attention to Fat Cat, our adopted outdoor cat.
(She cannot come inside since she attacks Pinky, our long-time indoor
cat, so she has to rough out a lonely life outside that we try to solace with
regular food and with as much attention as possible.)
As
I sit, Fat Cat parades back and forth next to me, relishing the petting and
talk I give her. Suddenly she stops
mid-stride and looks intensely down the narrow courtyard. I follow her gaze and see a Monitor Lizard
ambling up to our end of the courtyard from the direction of the drainage ditch.
This
monitor was not the biggest I’ve seen, probably being an adolescent, but they
are always still a sight to see – like a dinosaur in your immediate presence in
the 21st century. Its
nose-to-tail length was more than a yard, and nose-to-butt was over a cubit (18
inches). It was slender with long legs
and huge claws. Tongue repeatedly
lashing out to smell for the food that is often left out for cats, it patrolled
around the courtyard areas where food is often found. It came within five feet of us, well aware of
us and not afraid. Fat Cat was only
marginally afraid, staying close to me but just watching with wary
fascination. I got a chance to study its
eyes as it ambled about very near us, and it was eerie. It never let up its awareness of me –
implacable reptilian gaze.
These
lizards are amazing. Each and every one
I’ve seen is uniquely different. I
believe it is true what I’ve heard said from people who know these monitor
lizards well: that each one has a unique
personality – like cats or dogs.
Monitors
are often called “reptilian cats” because of their intelligence and cunning as
predators, and for their speed and strength.
Years ago we finally figured out the mystery of the periodic
disappearance of three kittens when the fourth of the litter was found
dead. An adult monitor had methodically
hunted down and eaten three half-grown kittens over a period of several
weeks. The fourth was not eaten because it
was too big at the shoulders to be swallowed – it was old enough to be neutered
– but we found him dead with his head and neck slathered in saliva. The monitor had grabbed him by the head,
probably broke his neck, and then tried to swallow him before giving up. Imagine a reptile that is able to ambush a
cat!
Today
the monitor looked straight at me, five feet away, and seemed to consider
moving closer. Cat food had often been
left close to the stoop I was sitting on, so it had that in mind. Its narrow head was turned straight toward me
so that both its eyes had me in focus.
Fat Cat was beside me, a bit behind, not taking her eyes off the
beast. I simply extended my hands slowly,
forward and wide to the sides with palms out.
The lizard got it and slowly turned and ambled away, nonchalantly
sniffing other places and eventually climbing up a vertical pile of wood and
debris with amazing ease.
I
usually have my mobile in my pocket at all times, but at this moment just out
of the shower I didn’t have it at hand.
I really regret that because I could have filmed this extended exotic
encounter at close range. The lizard was
not shy or eager to run away, and I could have recorded that haunting yellow
dinosaurian eye that regarded me without fear and with seeming equanimity.
-Zenwind.
.
