Our son, Jack, got two geckos for Christmas. They're cute, one girl and one boy, and I find myself often wandering into his room to say hello or watch them eat (poor crickets).
Tonight, just before a buddy went home, Jack went in to feed Lizzie and Geico. Then the friend's dad came and we visited for a few minutes and they left and I moved back to the computer and Jack went into his room and suddenly let out a howl. My Oggie, one of the best cats who ever lived, was sitting in the tank. The top had been left off!
Amidst crying kids--Jack and his sister Kennedy--I frantically searched the cage. There aren't many hiding places. One hollow rock, a few fake leaves, and a half log. The male, Geico, was missing.
Quickly I cleared the floor of a week of laundry, many, many legos, and several shoes. No gecko. I looked under the RockBand drums, around the Nerf multi-shooter assault weapon. Nothing. Meanwhile, Jack sobbed on the couch.
Oggie ate him. Probably in one wild bite. There was no blood, nothing.
In the mean time, Dad had gone to pick up the pizza and had returned. He thought the cat should have thrown up or something. "Maybe it's in there," he suggests. "Did you check the shoes in the closet?"
So I go back in, with a flashlight, and check, like, 50 pairs of shoes. Nothing. I look FURTHER under Jack's bed, and behind the toy chest again. Big sigh.
I look at Lizzy, hiding in the leaves, and decide to look in the cage again. Nothing. Hmmmm. Without hope, I lift the edge of the green astro turf stuff that cover the floor of the cage and yell as I see a frightened Geico. He's so small he didn't even make a lump.
"Jack! JACK!" He runs in, and sees the little guy in my hand. More tears. More hugs.
Tragedy averted--thank you God.