Author: Sheri Pardini

My husband, Kim, and I were tasked with contacting the Social Security Administration on behalf of his mother. They had sent a letter stating that they didn’t have a current address. They didn’t say a current address for what? Her residence? They sent the letter to her residence. The bank where they have always sent her check? That didn’t change, but they didn’t specify. What they were specific about was that she wouldn’t be getting her social security check until they got that address.

Okay, no problem. We’ll give them a call and get this straightened out. What I didn’t realize was that we were out of our league. We were dealing with a government agency. You remember them? People assigned to work for the people, of the people, and by the people. Right now I’m not even sure they are people!

Naively we called the number provided on the letter. Of course it was automated with two options. We could say the name of the person we were trying to contact, or dial their extension. Nobody signed the letter, and there was no extension listed, but it did clearly say we could call them. We figured if we didn’t do anything the system would be forced to connect us with a person. We figured wrong! It was just an endless loop letting us know of our two options and there was not a third.

Knowing there was more than one way to skin a cat, as they say, I went to their website and found the “Contact Us” option. There I was told they don’t publish the numbers of your local social security office. Why not? Why all the secrecy? What are they working on? This isn’t Area 51 stuff! This is our social security! You know, the little card that allows you to get a job. The agency that takes money out of your paycheck so you can get it back when you retire. Unless of course, you can’t reach them to validate your address, which as you recall, they already have!

Options narrowing, I chose the generic 800 number. Again we were greeted by automation, but this one was hopeful as we were told the call would be monitored. That’s a good indication that at some time we would talk to a human. After stating the reason for our call to the computer, we were told that our wait time for an agent would be approximately 28 minutes! Good thing we don’t have a life! There was a choice to leave our name and number and we would be called back. That sounded more sane.

An hour later we did receive a call back. The computer told us to stay on the line and we’d be connected to an agent. An agent promptly came on the line, or at least I think it was an agent. It was a series of clipped static. You know the kind you’d imagine you’d be receiving if you were communicating with someone on Pluto! This went beyond a bad connection. It wasn’t continuous static, but static where obviously words should have been. Kim kept telling them that he couldn’t hear them; letting them know all we could hear was static, and they needed to call back. Yet the alien static continued in response. We had no idea if they could hear us, but assumed they could not because Kim kept repeating his request for them to call back; that their message was nothing but static, and yet the transmissions continued. He hesitated to hang up for fear they would not call back, but he had no choice. Before Kim could terminate the call on our end we heard the computer come back on the line, asking him to stay on the line to answer survey questions about our call with them today. I nearly flew out of my chair trying to stop Kim from hanging up. I thought at least we could leave a dissatisfied survey, but Kim has no patience for foolishness. He hung up, yet it was impossible not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

In case you were wondering, there was no call back, though we waited for it. Instead Kim called again in order to get back in line to talk to someone. This time the automated computer asked for his name, the social security number he was calling about, and the reason for his call once again. After Kim gave it to the computer he was informed, “All agents are busy at this time. Please call back”, and with that he was disconnected! If it wasn’t so serious, it would be funny.

Ronald Reagan said the most terrifying words in the English language are, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” I’m sure about the first part. They are from the government, but here to help? Not likely. So, now what? I don’t know. We can’t seem to get by the computerized centurion at the gate. However, we are not without skills and Yankee ingenuity. It might be time to mobilize the forces and storm the gates. When we do, I wonder “who” or “what” we’ll find behind the curtain of, “Leave your name and number. We’ll call you back”.

 Returning to Naples, after a weekend in Melbourne, we were greeted on the freeway by some serious reminders that we had quietly slipped into June and with it, the beginning of hurricane season! You have to appreciate Florida. If you aren’t prepared for the possibility of a showdown with Mother Nature you have either been procrastinating or in a coma! These signs, normally designated for important travel information are now being used as big bold reminders of things to come!

I do stay alert with a daily check of the National Hurricane Center website. I confess, though, that I am behind on getting that hurricane kit stocked up. It is on the “Must Do” list for this weekend, when once again the toy bin for the grandkids is transformed into a container, not for Play Doh and Lincoln Logs, but peanut butter, tuna fish, flashlights, and batteries. The toys will take up new residence in the laundry hamper, and the laundry will have to move to a basket. Cases of water and Gatorade will be stacked in the lanai with hopes that we will sail through until the end of November without so much as a tropical storm to show for it. Only then will the extra food and water be consumed until next June when we start all over again.

Knowing that in 2017 we had a plan that went to Hell in a hand-basket, this season we’ll have a plan, a backup plan, and a back up to the back up. From afar it’s easy to say, “Get out!”, but in execution that isn’t always easy. Unless you’re retired you can’t just pick up and go at the first threat of a hurricane coming your way, but you can prepare to evacuate. Most of us have to wait, plan our escape, and then hope there is enough fuel along the way to actually get out, and a refuge to go to once you do. You might be like my neighbor, and lucky enough to get on the last flight out before they close the airports. If all that blows away in the wind, like it did for us in 2017 with Irma, not because of poor planning, but because of a baby, you have no choice, but to batten the hatches and hunker down with those large bins of non-perishable food, cases of water, and prayer.

Florida isn’t the only place to get hit by the fury of Mother Nature, and hurricanes aren’t the only weapons in her arsenal. We’ve all seen this past year just what she can do when peeved; mortifying fires in the west, horrendous flooding in the heartland, and  devastating tornadoes of the midwest. Mother Nature can unleash a ferocity of energy second to none. Wherever you live, whatever you face, all you can do is prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and be alert.

I plan to add pen and paper to my kit this year, so I can jot down all the things I “wish” I had, but don’t when disaster strikes. In the aftermath of recovery the brain seems to shut down all non-essential systems, and suddenly you can no longer remember those things that during the storm you said, “I wish I had….”. This year, I plan to be prepared for a brain freeze! And thankfully this season, nobody is expecting a baby!

God bless us all!

I just received notice on my iPad that my screen time was up 48 percent from last week. Hmmm, I do not remember adding an app to my iPad allowing it to monitor my screen time. Did I hire a nanny? No I did not! Who does my iPad think it is overseeing just how much screen time I have used, and whether that’s a good idea or not? It’s not even a “who”. It’s a “what”! I’m pretty sure at my age I can make that decision for myself. Who is it going to tell if I ignore its nosiness, my mother?

When did our devices decide to insert themselves into our decision-making? I thought they were tools for us to use, much like any other tool in our life, such as a mop, a shovel, a hammer, a broom, and the like. I don’t recall any of those tools giving me any feedback about how much I’ve used them in the last week. The shovel and hammer are normally ignored, and the mop and broom get more than their fair share of the chore detail, yet I have heard no lip from them. 

My computer and my iPad are linked, so what I do on one is recognized by the other. I work online. I use the computer to write my book, I’m employed to score standardized tests online, and I write a blog. You can see that the computer is a huge part of my life. Right now I’m making the final push to publish my latest book. It’s also the middle of the school testing season, so I spend eight hours a day online reading student papers and scoring them. Because of that I suppose my screen time this last week has increased. Has anyone else been admonished by their device that they are spending too much time at work? I didn’t think so.

Then it gets a little schizophrenic. I get the message that my screen time has increased, followed by a reminder that my NotSherry readers haven’t heard from me in a while. “You might want to write something.” Well, what do you want you crazy little machine!? You want me to write online, or go to the beach? Make up your mind!

I am being badgered by HAL! You remember him. That ever watching, conniving computer from 2001 Space Odyssey. Last night Kim and I were discussing getting a new mattress, and the next thing you know, this morning on Facebook I had several ads for mattress choices. He doesn’t have a Facebook account. I do. I wasn’t searching on Facebook for a mattress. I wasn’t actually searching at all. He was, but on his phone. Exactly who is listening….all the time?

Watch yourself my dear, sweet little iPad. Mind your own business, or I’ll turn you off, and then what are you going to do?

Just some advice. Don’t ever buy anything that says, “unscented” on it. I made that mistake and discovered that there is no such thing as “unscented”. All that label means is they didn’t add a scent to it. I thought, well that might be good, not to be overpowered by an added scent. So, I bought it.

I’m talking about hairspray here. I don’t care how you feel about hairspray.  I live in Florida and I need it! Most women, perhaps men too, suffer from crazy curly hair in humidity. Me, just the opposite. I look like a half-drowned puppy, so a little hairspray to keep my bangs from drooping into my eyes like an English Sheepdog is necessary. But unscented hairspray doesn’t mean you smell nothing. It means you smell just the ingredients they put in it. So I looked. Just what am I smelling, because it smells awful!!!

First is water. That’s probably not the culprit. The second ingredient is Dimethyl Ether. Ether! Isn’t that the stuff they use in spy movies to knock someone out? Actually, that might be the offender. I did a little checking. That’s the propellant in aerosols, but it’s also the stuff that makes up biofuels. A little heads up on that would have been good! Unscented would mean I smell like gas! Then there is a long list of other stuff I have no idea what it is, and unless you’re a chemist, neither do you.

Toward the lower third of the list is, “Fragrance”. Well, that’s a little vague and since it is clearly printed on the front of the can, “Unscented”, why is one of the ingredients, “Fragrance”? Is fragrance even an ingredient? According to the dictionary, Fragrance is the quality of having a pleasant scent. I don’t think “quality” and “ingredient” are interchangeable words. And if the maker of this so-called “Fragrance” thinks it is in any way pleasant, they have serious sinus issues!

Way down at the bottom of the list we have White Lily Bulb Extract, Green Tea Leaf Extract, and Rice Protein. Okay, I don’t know if this combination just smells bad, or there is really not enough of them to push through the other 13 mystery ingredients to make a difference. Perhaps their presence here has something to do with hairspray, and not an attempt to add a scent to an unscented product. That’s what “Fragrance” was for.

When you buy anything from flowers, to fruit, to houseplants don’t you smell it first? Our sense of smell tells us we’re walking through a beautiful flower garden, or someone is having a barbecue. We can smell the aroma of pine needles warming in the sun, and salt in the ocean breeze. Smell also warns us of a fire, or a gas leak, or rotten eggs. So what made me think to buy unscented hairspray? From now on it’s nothing but rose, or lavender, or citrus, because unscented is really not unscented and smells more like that ethanol we talked about earlier, or perhaps worse, that mysterious “Fragrance”.

I am getting ready to publish another book and was looking through boxes of photographs for the ones I was hoping to use. Yes I said boxes. I have eight or nine photo albums, not including my wedding album, and the rest of my pictures are in plastic boxes. Some day I’ll get around to putting them in albums, or something better than just tossed in a box. I can also pretend I’m going to organize them, but probably not! If they get put in an album I’ll raise my arms in victory! However, the subject at hand is not organization, but identification.

Whoever said that a picture is worth a 1000 words did not anticipate boxes of photographs with nothing written on the back to identify where we are, or when we were there. Most of the time I could tell who it was of. Obviously I know my own children, though it would have been nice to know how old they were in the shot, instead of having to guess. I did run across a picture of a German shepherd that I have no idea who he is, or to whom he belongs. All I know is, he wasn’t mine.

Remember back to the days of film, which is why we have all these photos, Wal-Mart would offer double prints for the price of one. Great idea! The grandparents would love to have this picture! Perhaps, but probably not all 36 images on the roll! While looking through handfuls of snapshots I’m wondering if there wasn’t a mistake made, and Walmart actually printed quadruple pictures, or did we actually take four photos of our son and daughter singing the same verse, in the same song, in the same Christmas pageant? I swear I ran across a dozen images that were nearly identical! I could have culled through them and thrown the copies, and near copies away, but then what are my kids suppose to do when I die? This will make them wonder what craziness drove me to take so many pictures of exactly the same thing, and give them something to talk about. I’ll be sure to leave a note in the box, because you know that’s exactly where they are going to be, letting them know their dad was the one with the camera. Blame him!

But, it really wasn’t pictures of people that was the huge problem, it was the scenery pictures. With nothing written on the back, mountains are mountains unless they are extremely identifiable, like the Grand Teton, Half Dome, or Everest! A mountain meadow is a mountain meadow, and if you think they look different in Colorado, Utah, Wyoming, France, or Italy, you would be wrong! It doesn’t end there. Beaches are just as bad. Now there is a little hint that comes with beaches. If the water is a blue-green you are probably looking at white sand in shallow water, so Florida, the Bahamas, or the Caribbean. If the water is dark blue it’s probably California, or Hawaii. Waves most likely indicate ocean, and flat probably a bay, or the Gulf. However, I caution everyone on the use of such words as always and never, because there are “always” exceptions to “every” rule and you could really be looking at anywhere in the world.

So, here I am with three boxes of “Where was that taken?”, and “When was that taken?”, along with “Why are there 25 pictures of my kids diving into their grandmother’s pool?”. Digital may help, but if my phone is any indication, probably not. I flipped through the other day and saw six pictures of my granddaughter sitting in the rocking chair we gave her for Christmas, and another four of my grandson reading a book. Which ones should I delete? None of them! They’re adorable! Now, to figure out how to add not a 1000 words, but perhaps 3…Who, when, and where.

Have you ever been shopping for a dress, or a T-shirt only to look at the size and find these words, “One Size Fits All”? Well first of all, that’s a lie! You don’t need to be in the fashion industry to know that there is no way one garment is going to fit everyone from a size 2 to a size 18. I don’t care how much spandex and lycra you put in it. What it means is that the people on both ends of the sizing spectrum are either going to be drowning in folds of fabric, or trying to squeeze into two constricting bands someone calls yoga pants! Either way, both are left gasping for air! I believe “One Size Fits All” is a euphemism for “One Size Fits Next To No One”!

My daughter recently suffered a severe ankle sprain. We were advised to get her a lace up brace from the local drugstore. I sent my husband, Kim, out to snag one. When he returned I asked him what size he got. He said it’s, “One Size”. Uh huh, we’ll see about that.

Mariah has been blessed with her dad’s bones. They are not big people, but their bones are solid! You could snap my bones like a twig, but Mariah and Kim, well you’d have to run over their ankles with a truck to break them, so I was skeptical, at best, with this “One Size” moniker. When we opened the package I noticed an immediate problem. You could loosen the brace, to a certain extent, but the support band that went under the arch…that was one piece. In order to put it on you had to point your toes, slide them in, and then tug it the rest of the way onto your foot. Only then could you adjust the rest of the brace. Did I mention that Mariah had severely “sprained” her ankle? She wouldn’t let you touch it, let alone tug on it, and she couldn’t point her toes. Furthermore, I couldn’t get my foot into that “One Size” brace. I have a narrow, size 5 foot! If it wouldn’t fit me, how would it fit an average size man, let alone an average size woman’s foot? No, it was not for a child. I checked! It went back!

Recently I noticed a change in this vague sizing language. Instead of “One Size Fits All”, many of those tags now read, “One Size Fits Most”. Great! Now they’ve moved from lying to insulting. If it doesn’t fit you’re not even in the “most” group. No wonder so many of us have self esteem issues.

I decided this isn’t my problem. It’s an industry that has become lazy and has settled for “most” as good enough. People come in all shapes and sizes. We are all uniquely our own in personality, attitude, abilities, and even the way we look. Some of us are tall, some short, some thin, some curvy. So why then does an industry that should understand that more than anyone, insist on ignoring the most obvious things that make us different?

Who started this insanity? It was the sock industry! It all started with, “Fits shoe size 4-9”! Really?

Here we are at the tail end of 2018. Our calendars are all used up and looking over mine, it looks like I had a very busy schedule. Oh wait! All those squares were filled in with bills to pay, doctor appointments, and obligations! Hmmm? Well, let’s see if I can’t add some fun things to those squares in 2019.

I bought myself a nice pretty calendar of “gardens”. Not a snow picture in the entire year. Snow pictures are very pretty, but I might suggest you folks that live in snow country get yourself a pretty garden calendar too. It’s full of color and life, and if you get tired of pulling on snow boots, your parka, and shoveling the driveway, you can turn on some nice music, hang your garden calendar on the wall near the table, and pretend it’s a window!

For Christmas I gave my husband a 2019 “To Do” list, but it’s not what you might think. It’s a list of places to go, things to experience, and new adventures. Some of them are simple and easy, like picking out four new restaurants, exploring a new bike trail, taking the kayak somewhere we’ve never been before. There were some that were uncomplicated, that just require getting out of our routine, like going to the beach once a month, and spending more time in the pool. Some of them are bigger adventures like a trip to Bahamas, or a riverboat cruise for our 40th anniversary. I also challenged him to find a new place locally to explore.

The list included spending more time with our kids and grandkids. Shortly after Christmas our daughter sprained her ankle badly, and is unable to put any weight on it. Since our son-in-law works 24 hr shifts, someone needs to pick up the slack. Not being able to stand and chasing after a toddler does not go together. The other day when we were helping out, Mariah said with a smile, “Well, spending more time with your grandchildren was on your list.” That was NOT what we meant!

Whatever pictures are on your 2019 calendar, may the fresh squares be filled in with experiences and adventures, both grand and small. Then at the end of the year you will see a year well lived, and those bills and doctor’s appointments will only be footnotes in a far bigger story.

You would think some things would not need saying, but you’d be wrong! An alligator, by definition, might not technically be an apex predator, but an adult alligator has so few who would dare attack it, that it would be splitting hairs to deny it the distinction. The words to live by here in Florida are, if there is water, there are gators, and the reason it’s against the law to feed alligators can be seen in the news a couple of times a year. I thought perhaps this would be one of those moments when I might regrettably be witness to the reason in action.

One evening last week we spent a fun night with our daughter, Mariah, and her family at a beautiful park in Ft. Myers. They had decorated a section of the park, which features several lakes, for Halloween, complete with a hay ride, games, and pumpkin patch, but the big attraction was a small-scale train that you ride on top of. It’s a 15 minute ride through a section of the park that was decorated in festive lights, scarecrows, tombstones, bats, and witches. You know, the usual Halloween elements.

While waiting for it to get dark enough to truly enjoy the magic of the lights, we sat at a table in the pavilion near the water, talking and watching the sunset. I was deep into telling a story when Mariah’s eyes got large! She stood up, pointed, and blurted, “Gator!” My back was to the water, but her words were spoken with such urgency that I felt sure he had snuck up directly behind me, preparing to make me a nice snack! I knew that wasn’t likely, but those words strike such fear in your body that your fight or flight instincts kick in. When alligators are involved, flight should win every time!

We were on a platform a few feet above the water, and protected from it with several slats of railing. What we weren’t protected from was the fool that was under the impression that the sign, clearly posted, reminding everyone that it is “illegal to feed or entice alligators”, did not in any way pertain to him. We had a front row seat, (actually we were standing by now, because it is not prudent to remain seated when a six-foot alligator is in your immediate vicinity), to what we thought was going to necessitate a 911 call.

This man was holding his arm out over the water, as if he had food in his hand, and Mr. Alligator had him locked in his sights. We stood near the railing to observe, but not next to this moron! The alligator was not interested in us. He had only one thing on his mind, and it was clear what it was. He wanted whatever that man was offering, even if it was only his hand. It was obvious this nitwit had not been the only nitwit to ignore that sign, as Mr. Alligator seemed to associate this pavilion and the people on it with a free meal.

Feeding alligators does not make them tame. It only makes them bolder and more dangerous! So while Mr. Chucklehead was holding his hand over the water, Mariah said in a loud enough voice, “He does know they can jump?!” Alligators can jump up to 6 feet out of the water from a complete state of rest! In this case, that would have been high enough. We now watched that gator do something I have never seen before. He dropped his tail in the water, so that his body was in a vertical position! We stepped back! Dusty, who is a paramedic said, “I’ll apply a tourniquet, but I’m not going in that water after his hand!” Mr. Chucklehead quickly decided perhaps enticing that alligator wasn’t the most brilliant idea he had that day, and withdrew his hand, moving back himself. I’m glad he did, because though people like that make that animal more dangerous than they already are, I really didn’t want to see him, stupid as he was, lose his hand in front of my granddaughter.

Finally dark enough, we boarded our miniature train for a fun ride around the park in the dark, with spooky ghosts and goblins. Mariah sat behind me adding, at least to my experience, a running commentary, announcing every access point where an alligator could possibly become a living addition to the decor, making this attraction a real life Halloween haunt!

 

When you’re eating outside, you never know who or what might decide to join you. Such was the case while at Disney’s Magic Kingdom last week. I was sitting at a sidewalk table with my one year old granddaughter, watching the ducks wander around beneath the tables, looking to snatch up anything anyone might drop in the way of food, accidentally or on purpose. Aurora was fascinated, and it kept her occupied while Mariah, Dusty, and Kim went to order and collect our supper.

Though Aurora is a fabulous eater, she is not greedy, and is known to share what is on her plate with Cleo, her dog. Since Cleo wasn’t with us, she spread around a few crumbs of her hotdog and french fries to eagerly awaiting ducks. Mariah looked up from her meal and calmly said, “Uh oh!” I turned in my chair to see that a Great Egret had come to join the party. Because he was on the other side of a low fence, I didn’t give it much thought. I don’t, however, know why. That fence was of no consequence to it.

A Great Egret stands 3 ft tall and has a wingspan of roughly 67 inches. It’s a beautiful bird, but its most impressive feature, when up close and personal, is its large dagger-like beak, that is very fast and deadly when it comes to spearing fish.

Mariah’s eyes suddenly grew large and she managed to croak out, “Mom! Mom! It’s trying to reach under your chair!” I turned to see white plumage right next to me! Not near me, but exactly next to me! I am roughly 5 ft tall, so when seated this bird and I are  eye to eye, and the next thing I know that’s exactly what I’m looking at! Well, that’s a bit creepy, but what really got my attention was that dagger he calls a beak!!!

The seating arrangements are now me, Mr. Egret, Aurora, and then Mariah. Aurora is in her stroller. She is fascinated with our new dinner guest, and curiously looking up at him. All I could see were my sweet granddaughter’s beautiful blue eyes, and this bird’s dagger-like beak. Though the bird was only interested in the piece of hotdog under my chair, there was no way for us to know that. Instinct took over in both Mariah and myself. She rose to try to shoo it away. I stuck my arm in front of the bird to cover Aurora’s face with my hand in an effort to protect her. I thought for sure my swift movement would scare it, causing it to strike out in fear. Every fiber in my body was waiting for that egret to stab my arm with its beak! I knew it was long enough and powerful enough to go clear through my arm. Thank goodness Dusty is a paramedic, because I was sure at any moment I was going to need one! Mariah’s efforts to scare it off went ignored, and it wasn’t until the egret had claimed his prized hotdog that he had enough of us, and hopped away, leaving everyone unharmed.

Wow! Just wow! I’m not sure if the experience was a treat, or a terrifying experience. Perhaps both, as my heart was pounding, but it was good to know when faced with danger, whether real or perceived,  I am still my family’s Secret Service detail.

 

You may remember that late last year I published a blog titled, “House of Horrors”, about the rats who had turned the crawl space under our house into their personal Romper Room. Well, this time there’s an added twist. No rats, but something much bigger!

Monday was trash day. Right after Kim left for work I went outside to take the trash and recycle cans to the curb when the sight of dirt, having been flung onto the carport parking pad, caught my eye. Oh what fresh hell is this!? For some unknown reason there is a small section between the lanai and the parking pad that is asphalt, rather than cement, which makes this a particularly vulnerable place for a home invasion of wildlife.

Right there before me was a fairly large hole that had been dug by a serious digger! I could see claw marks, but no real tracks, however there was a very clear tail drag! There are only so many critters that have the ability to dig ferociously, have a tail that could leave such a mark, and that live here in south Florida. After doing a lot of research, here are my choices.

An armadillo. It is a superior digger and has a long tail that it drags behind him. The hole is large enough, and though I haven’t seen one in my neighborhood, my daughter’s neighbor has one in his yard, so they’re around. The good thing about one being under the house is they eat bugs. I can get behind that. Feel free to clean up the area. The bad thing is they are powerful earth movers and a lot of times will go through things, rather than around, including pipes and wires. We live in a mobile home, so the only pipes connecting us to the ground are water and sewer. That could be a problem. As for wiring, that’s all self-contained, except where we hook into Florida Power & Light, but that’s not buried. At some point we could find ourselves without water, but at least we’ll have air conditioning. There is no bait for an armadillo and the only way to remove them is with a trap. Not easy to trap something you can’t bait and who can easily dig his way out of any prison. If it is an armadillo and he remains a quiet downstairs neighbor, we won’t bother him.

It could be a possum. The tail drag fits. They are not too cute, but they are good neighbors. They eat insects, fallen fruit, and most importantly, mice. Perfect! However, my research shows they do not have the hands required to dig a hole of this nature, unless the soil were really loose. Kim found claw marks that swallowed his house key, so we can probably rule out a possum.

Perhaps a gopher tortoise. They live here and are protected. You have to have a permit to even have them removed from your property. They can dig large burrows, but unless this is a juvenile, I’m not sure this hole is big enough. They have a tail, but not a long one, which this critter appears to have, so though a possibility, not a probability. I’m scratching his name off the list.

A python was quickly ruled out, because I wanted it to be! Though technically their entire body is a long tail, they are not equipped either to dig a hole such as this. Believe me, I checked! Besides, the tail drag wasn’t thick enough. In case you need to know, snakes don’t dig holes. They commandeer holes dug by others, if they enter a hole at all. Mostly they bury themselves under leaves, in crevasses of rocks, or in trees. Be mindful of that on your next stroll.

My last thought is an iguana. They do dig burrows, they have very long sharp claws, and though once again, I haven’t seen one in my neighborhood, they have been spotted in the area. They eat a large amount of plant material, and we have plenty in our yard. I actually wouldn’t mind the prospect if they would consider taking on some of the weeds. However, I haven’t seen any evidence that my huge hibiscus trees, or my giant bird of paradise has been bothered by anyone snacking on them.

I would love to set up a trail cam to capture an image of what it is. For now we appear to be living symbiotically. If I stumble over it in a dark hallway in the middle of the night, it’s getting an immediate eviction notice, by whatever means is deemed necessary.