Let me introduce our new house mate, Boomerang, an intrepid tree frog. Not as splashy as those colorful tree frogs that you see in the Costa Rica tourism promotions, Boomerang is a muted relative with a subtle grey/green mantle, huge eyes, and the iconic round suction pads at the end of its toes.
I first discovered Boomerang when I emptied the water from the flower vase that sits on our kitchen island. I carefully scooped him into an empty yogurt container and walked down to the edge of our property that is rimmed by jungle forest, where gently depositing him on a large leaf, I wished him luck and said good-bye. When, just a few days later, I discovered Boomerang had returned to the vase, I repeated my amphibian relocation service hoping that I’d seen that last of him.
That was not to be the case. A few days later, when reaching over my head to the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet to grab some tea bags, I recoiled with a short squeal as my fingers grazed something soft and rubbery. Fetching the step stool, I elevated myself to eye level with the shelf and discovered Boomerang crouched next to the box of tea bags. After a subsequent trip to the forest’s edge accomplished, I thought no further about it.
Sometime later, in the gray, early morning light, I was somewhat disconcerted to find Boomerang perched on the top of the faucet in the kitchen. Generally, I don’t turn on a light when I fetch a glass of water, but just as I was positioning the glass before turning the tap, in the half light I noticed a strange humped shape. “Good morning, Boomers!” Since I didn’t want to venture to the forest in the near dark, I left him on a broad leaf of a heliconia plant that grows at our entry stairs. Later in the day, I discovered that he had migrated up the railing structure leading to the entrance of our second floor kitchen. That time, I marched him down to the forest and strongly urged him to stay put.
Here we are again; Boomers is ensconced on the stem of a hibiscus branch sitting in the vase on our kitchen island. “Welcome to the family, Boomerang. Your tenacity is greater than my will to keep a frog-free kitchen.” As long as he contributes to the overall effort of keeping the insect population at bay, like our house gecko, Sneaker, then he can stay.
Sneaker has been our “gecko-in-residence” for several years, scooting about in the dark recesses of our home. A Sneaker sighting is relatively rare; mostly he surprises me in the shower. I’ll look up the bathroom wall and there he will be, placidly suctioned there looking like a piece of wall art. One time, he surprised me when I opened the cabinet door under the kitchen sink to see him clinging to the inner panel. After acknowledging my presence, he languorously side-winded away into the dark depths. I know that Sneaker is on the job when late in the quiet of the night, I hear his distinctive call; a high-pitched squeak like basketball shoes on a wooden court as the players pivot and stop short.
Shortly after moving here I decided to embrace my inner entomologist. The presence of so many insects in and outside our new home was a little disconcerting, yet I became fascinated by the spectacular colors or “electric acid test” body structures. I learned of the very few dangerous ones, the mostly harmless ones, but some, like mosquitoes and cockroaches, the just annoying ones.
Our household (the humans) believes in “catch and release” as a strategy to reduce the intruders. The exception are cockroaches. After living for a short time in a Manhattan fifth floor walk-up that was crawling with them, I can not abide them; the “catch and release” philosophy is suspended if I catch them in my kitchen. Our canine companions enjoy hunting and chewing on what they capture. Chicharra season being especially amusing when Soozi, our jet black cazadora “sings” with a chicharra in her closed mouth.
It was not even a month after moving into our home that I learned the valuable lesson about the need to shake out any footwear, clothing, or towel before using them. One day, after washing my face in the bathroom, I reached out for my gold-colored towel. Remembering that it was drying outside on the balcony, I shambled out there with water dripping in my half-closed eyes. When I cradled the towel in my hands to bring it to my face, I felt a strange
sensation of the towel moving on my palms. The next sensation was a sharp stab just below my collar-bone. I lowered my hands and shook open my eyes to see a three-inch long, gold and black scorpion wriggling on my towel. Looking down to my chest, I saw an angry red dot where it had stung me. Our neighbors had warned us of scorpion stings and I raced about the house looking for a Benadryl. I found one lonely pill in the bottom of my travel bathroom bag. It was ancient and as I peeled back the foil, the pill disintegrated to dust. I licked up as much of the dust as I could and while I waited for any of the warning signs, tightening throat, tingling lips and/or mouth, I captured the scorpion and walked it down to the edge of the property. Upon returning from my mission my lips and mouth were tingling, but I couldn’t decide if it was a result of the scorpion sting or eating Benadryl dust. Fortunately, I had no significant reaction and enjoyed a long, refreshing nap.
I try, as much as possible, to live in harmony with the natural surroundings. After all, I am invading their environment and they are just surviving just as eons of evolution have programmed them. With caution and curiosity on my part, we will thrive together.
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