Drool.
Literally. I left a few droplets of spit on the sill. I wanted that loaf. Wanted it so badly. However, given the male’s reaction to me earlier, I didn’t dare show myself.
The lid came off a pot, and I dribbled some more saliva as I smelled beef, tomato, potatoes, and a few scents new to my inherited collection of information. I needed it in my belly! The female might not have appeared like she could cook with her manly attire, but the repast she’d served indicated otherwise.
The female ladled some stew into a bowl before placing it in front of the old man, along with some of the bread.
MY bread! Not once did they glance in my direction as they devoured the feast. Perhaps had they seen me they would have offered some of their repast.
When they’d completed their meal, the pair moved from the kitchen table to a fabric-covered settee, where the female aimed a rectangular device at a box?—
What was this magic? The box went from a dark blank square to illuminated with people and sound. I’d stumbled across a witch with a strong skill for scrying by the looks of it. Although those she spied upon appeared rather boring. Going into a house and waving their hands around before visiting another.
With the humans occupied, I saw my chance. I slithered through the window—which sounded better than saying I fell from it to the floor since my leap to the table fell short several feet. Apparently, my short legs lacked thrust.
A glance showed the male and female still fixated on the scrying box. Excellent. I made my way to the stove, a fancy thing of metal with a window in the middle. I didn’t smell any coal or wood burning, making me wonder how it cooked. Not that I truly cared. I wanted the pot that sat on top. Since my claws would likely scrape noisily if I climbed the metallic surface, I instead dug into the wooden cupboard panels, straining and pulling myself up to the counter. From there, the cooling pot of stew awaited, as did the remnants of the bread. I grabbed the remaining hunk and lugged it. Light but larger than me, it proved slightly challenging to lift it high enough to dump into the pot.
At least it didn’t land with a noisy splash. A quick peek showed the humans still not paying me any mind, so I scaled the pot next. Not easily. It rose higher than my head, and stretching my arms didn’t let me grasp the rim. I needed a boost. Should have kept the bread.
A cup with a handle sitting beside a basin would work. I bit back a grunt as I tried to lift it. Heavy. Would they hear if I dragged? Scrape. Glance. No one noticed. Scrape. Scrape. I got it close enough I could use it to climb into the pot. The bread hadn’t sunk, the thickness of the stew not soaking through and keeping it afloat. A perfect perch for my feast.
Sitting on the fluffy and still-warm bread, I gorged. Oh, the flavors. Oh, the way it filled my belly. Oh, how delicious.
Once I hit the bottom, my belly so round it hurt, I began tearing into the moistened bread, but didn’t get far before admitting defeat. I’d have it later for a snack, right after my nap. I lay down on the white fragrant and cushy insides of the loaf. A comfy bed that put me to sleep.
A sleep rudely interrupted by a yell. The old man had a spoon above the pot, obviously planning to eat it, only he couldn’t because I’d licked the bottom clean.
He kept yelling and waving his utensil, and soon the female stood beside him, peering at me.
Unlike the man, she smiled and said something soft.
The man harrumphed, grabbed ahold of the pot, and marched it to the door. I might not understand a word he said, but I grasped his intent. He planned to dump me.
Like garbage.
How rude and unacceptable.
The female agreed. She wrenched the cookware from his grasp and spouted off, expression displeased, but her rant melodic. I really should learn their language.
She must have won the argument because the man sighed and marched back to the settee and the scrying box. The female, however, carried me to another room, hers, judging by how strongly her scent permeated the space.
The pot went inside a large glass box, and she tilted it on its side, even gave it a shake, obviously expecting me to abandon my bread. Never! I hugged it tight, and she laughed, something I did recognize, despite the language barrier.
She upended the pot, and gravity defied me, dumping me and my bread. The pot ended up removed, and before I could react, I found myself trapped, my only means of escape foiled when she placed a lid over top the box. The sheer glass sides defied my attempts to climb, although I didn't give up quickly.
As my failure mounted, so did my ire. “You will pay for this. How dare you take me prisoner!” Good cook or not, I’d eat the female for this. That was, once I managed to escape.
Chapter Three
The lizard—clutching the soggy hunk of bread—glared at me from the tank. It didn’t seem impressed by its new home. It had squeaked and wailed for several minutes before settling on glowering.
“Don’t worry, I’ll fetch you some nice things to make your new place comfortable.” I’d cleaned it out since my last pet died, a gecko named Yoshi. I’d been thinking of replacing him but hadn’t found the time to hit the pet store. It seemed kind of fortuitous that this one ended up landing in my pot, but I did wonder at its type.
It definitely didn’t look like any reptile I’d ever seen. For one, its color. Burnt orange. Most of the island lizards ranged from gray to green. While bigger than a gecko, the moist newness of its skin made me think it had recently shed. I’d have to take a peek online to see if I could figure out what I’d captured. Hopefully not something rare and restricted. Then again, I could always claim ignorance if someone ratted me out—ahem, my grandfather.
Tutu sulked in the living room. He hated lizards. Called them vermin and yet, while he grumbled, he’d never actually forbade me from keeping one. As he claimed, better something in a cage than a shedding cat or dog roaming the house. Having various pet lizards growing up had been his concession, granted only because my grandmother told him either he let me get a lizard or she’d find me the biggest, slobberiest dog available. She never took his crap.
I headed outside and gathered some leaves and then some fruit from the mango tree since Tutu claimed he’d seen it stealing some earlier. I headed back inside to find my lizard trying to scale the glass with its little claws. It didn’t work, and I giggled as it kept sliding down. I dumped the leaves into the tank and placed the mango in there as well. In the kitchen, a rummage through the cupboards resulted in a shallow dish, which I filled with water. Would I need a mister for the tank? Given its skin didn’t appear dry and scaly, most likely. For the moment, all I had was a spray bottle, which I filled.
