Colonel Popcorn

Since January of this year I have been living with Matt in a small cabin made entirely of wood, lacking insulation and proper drainage. My life has taken on a sort of mysticism that I don't recognize until I examine my daily experiences from a bird's eye view.
Like clockwork, nearly every two hours a Tokay gecko that lives in the rafters between our porch light and tin roof makes a noise that sounds like uuuuh-ooooooh. Our landlord has a long history of taking care of animals, including a stint raising these South American foot-long dinosaurs in the cabin prior to renting it out. According to myth, they escaped one day and have now become an integral part of the ecosystem of the property, feeding on June bugs and the giant moths that swarm our outside lights. Unfortunately, Colonel Popcorn lost his mate in Winter when she tried to warm herself on a lightbulb. Ouch.
On a rafter above our home-made wooden bed you can see white deposits that once clung to gecko eggs.
Our conure Rosie Modelo turns a curious ear to the kitchen corner each time the gecko crows but has yet to imitate his calls.