I knew going into that den of fear that my battle would not be one of fortunate ease. At first, he clung cleverly to the side of the refrigerator. A bold move. One I would not forget. I countered from the counter, swinging my spatula of justice toward his forbidable frame. “Check!” I cried. He bounded from the fridge to the wall to the floor to the ceiling to the door. Bolder still. “But I control the exits here, my friend. You cannot escape. You leave either dead or vanquished!” His eyes flitted to and fro. I hurled myself against the door, mighty weapon already weaving painful swirls of judgement down upon him; but he loosed a fearsome scowl and lept yet again into the dark crevasses of the couch.

A word on the couch. Many ancient evils lurk beneath the cushions we fear to turn. Surely, perhaps, goodness also dwells. The lost change, the keys, the condoms of utter necessity too wait for our humble eyes to light upon them–but at what cost? At what terrible cost! So it was that I turned bravely and humbly to the unturning of the sofa cushions. Slowly, at first, to keep my prey on edge–then faster as the scent of the hunt came more fully into my nostrills. Pillows flung into the air, lint and dust scattered to the winds of the awesome ceiling fan, and at last the outstretched, leathery claws of that viscous reptile as he hurled himself against me in one last futile attempt at freedom.

To rest I laid him upon the asphalt. Songs will yet be sung of the man incarnate thrice upon the form of lizard beneath the failing streetlight of our world.