Alex and I are not the only habitants of this apartment.
We share our 2 bedroom/2 bath with dozens of geckos (or maybe it’s just one that really gets around).
Usually they lurk behind furniture, in cabinets or on the ceiling. They mostly eat the other small bugs that live in our apartment and sometimes make little ge-ko ge-ko sounds (hence the name, I guess). In Malaysia they are called cicak, which is a similar sort of sound (chee-chak, chee-chak) For the most part, they don’t bother us, except for the occasional heart-stopping fright.
Our adventures with the geckos started pretty much the day we moved in:
The first night, when were still a little disoriented from the whole moving experience, we walked into the dark apartment and the geckos were crawling all over the ceiling as if they owned the place. (You know they have these awesome, natural, suction-cup-type feet) I guess they had gotten used to having the apartment all to themselves since it had been empty for the last two weeks. I suppose we probably scared them just as much as they scared us, which is why we rarely ever see them out in the open anymore.
Last year I was sleeping peacefully when I heard Alex yelp like a little girl. Turns out he was in the kitchen getting some water, when a gecko fell from the ceiling (in shock, presumably) and landed on his shoulder. Then it fell to the floor and scampered away.
A few weeks ago I was getting a can opener out of our “large utensil” drawer. I opened the drawer expecting to find only our utensils, but also discovered the smallest baby gecko ever (that’s him on the left – he’s next to a standard XOXO vegetable peeler, that hole at the end of the peeler is about the same diameter as my pinkie finger). He was so scared he would barely come out into the open. I have no idea how he got in the drawer, why he would stay there (among the knives), or how he got out. I haven’t seen him since.
And, just the other day, in the wee hours of the morning, I was throwing something away in the kitchen trash. I guess the gecko that was inside the trash can wasn’t expecting me to open the door because he jumped out of the can, directly at me, and fluttered to the floor. It’s pretty cool actually, they kind of hold their arms and legs straight out, with their little fingers fluttering in the wind and glide to the floor. I just about passed out from the shock. By the time I came to he had disappeared (probably into that spectacular utensil drawer his little friend told him about).
I suppose we have a mutually beneficial relationship. They benefit from the acres of trash we leave behind, which draws the insects that become their unsuspecting victims; and we benefit by experiencing (daily) a feeling of relief at still being alive after a heart-stopping shock.