The bandicoot book series

Short Stories about Critters
in the House -
This short story - Bobtail Lizards

BESET BY BOBTAILS

We had not long been resident in Mundaring before discovering that our half acre was shared with a variety of wildlife. At all times of the day and night, rustlings and squeakings and hissings could be heard from trees, under leaf piles, and behind rocks.

One day as I sat on the steps, out from under a bush came a stumpy lizard with a huge head. The lizard wore a handsome suit of brown and white and orange scales and looked rather like an ambulatory pine cone. It opened its huge mouth and hissed at me, displaying a leaf-shaped bright blue tongue, then shambled away as fast as it could.

I was slightly frightened: I'd never seen such a creature, and wondered if it was dangerous. It certainly looked capable of giving a nasty bite.

A quick visit to the library informed me that my visitor was a bobtail, t. rugosa. The book said they ate slugs, which endeared them to me at once, as slugs are a big problem in our yard. Bobtails can live to be 30 years old if idiots in 4WDs don't run them down. They mate for life and give live birth to large babies. And it is said they keep snakes out of the yard.

I named the lizard "Bob" and began putting out a saucer of water for him on hot days.

A few months after Bob's first appearance, he figured out how to get up the steps, through the cat door and into the back porch.

He could often be found with both front feet in the cats' food dish, helping himself to whatever was on the menu for the day. The cats sat back, appalled. Later, Bob developed a taste for Whiskettes cat kibble, which he managed to eat despite having no observable teeth.

I took a picture of Bob having his elevenses and sent it off to the Whiskettes company with a note about how they were missing a bet and ought to advertise their cat food as a favourite of native wildlife as well.

A few weeks later a box arrived address to "Old Bob" c/- the Treanors. Inside were four tins of Whiskas, a bag of Whiskettes, and a small pouch of cheese flavoured cat treats. Bob showed no inclination towards writing a thank you note, so I did it for him.

Over the years, Bob came and went through the cat door and became such a regular he was soon part of the family.

Last summer I was alone in the house, working in my den when I heard a sharp sound from the front of the house. Ooops, had I left the front door unlocked? Was one of the frequent escapees from Wooroloo Prison even now prowling my house looking for money?

I looked about for a weapon, torn between the vacuum cleaner wand and a spray bomb of deodorant.

In a loud voice I said to the cat "Well, Sam, what about some iced tea?", in hopes the uninvited visitor would think I had a man in the house.

The noise sounded again: something metal on tile. I could sit here in the den all day, or I could take my courage in both hands and investigate.

Nothing for it but to go down the hall and into the living room. Making as much noise as I could, and chatting gaily to Sam the cat all the while, I walked down the hall. At the living room door, I peered cautiously around. The key was in the front door and clearly the noisemaker hadn't entered that way. That left the back door.

I stepped into the living room. On the floor by the wood stove the shovel I had earlier used to clear out the last of the winter ashes lay rocking gently.

Whoever had come into my house had jostled that shovel, making the loud noise I'd heard.

I couldn't see into the kitchen from here, but that must be where the villain lurked--right next to my knife box. Even now he might be clutching my boning knife, or the 12 inch raw meat knife, or--should I make a dash for the front door? Could I unlock it, get into the yard, and scream for my neighbours before the lurking criminal pounced?

As I was considering my options, something caught my eye. From behind the woodstove came a noise, then a head poked out, followed by the rest of Old Bob's scaley body. Then another, smaller, head looked out, followed by a more delicate body.

Both lizards scuttled across the tile floor and under the bookcase, from which they peered out at me.

I put aside the spray bomb of deodorant and sat down on the floor. All was now clear: Bob had a bride, and was looking for a cosy place to honeymoon. What nicer spot than a cool tile floor, away from the sun, and within commuting distance of the cat food dishes?

I felt like an awful spoil sport, but I couldn't leave the honeymooners where they were. Very gently, (if you have never smelled what a nervous lizard can do, count yourself lucky), I collared both bobtails. I put them down on the porch, this time closing the screen door behind them. They hissed a chorus of complaint and after a while went grumpily away.

The new arrival was christened "Bobette." She and Bob have since had at least one offspring, perhaps the fruit of their liaison behind the wood stove. The couple are still enjoying marital bliss in our yard, but not under our bookcase.


More Short Stories:
Stalked by Spiders
Arachnid Ambush
There's a Mouse in the House

For stories about bandicoots - please visit our diary pages.