You read the title right! We have a dead lizard in the bathroom (and I use the word in the American sense). That's one of the few downsides to having cats; the buggers *will* insist on being atavistic and bringing the spoils of the hunt into the house.
It's hard not to be touched at their obvious pride in their hunting skills. A couple of months after Kitten came to live with us she proudly brought in her latest victim and laid it at my feet; about a metre of dried vegetation she'd dragged all the way along the back lane and skillfully navigated through the back window! How could I not pat the heck out of her?
The dead lizard has been there a couple of weeks. It's so small there's no danger of an overpowering smell of putrefaction. I find myself fascinated by the question of how long it will take my wife to notice. Her lack of observation probably has much to do with the fact that I stand, she sits!
Quite some years ago when I was living with Peta we had what seemed an eminently sensible agreement regarding the dishes. We'd take it in turns to wash em. This was a long time before we had a dishwasher. The only problem was that she'd never wash them. Always with the excuses! I don't say that I was perfect but I had learned some years earlier that it's easiest to wash them right now, before the crust forms!
One summer she'd let them go about three days and the pile was growing (to say nothing of the fungus). It became a battle of the wills; who would give in first? Me out of turn or her? At day eleven I gave in.
How very childish!
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