The other morning I woke up and found a raisin in my bed. There was a time in my life when this wouldn’t have puzzled me at all, but on this occasion I had not been drunk the night before and I had not been eating raisins, or indeed, anything else in my bed. I thought perhaps it had got stuck to my foot somehow and consequently I had brought it into my house and then into my bed, so I put it in the bin and forgot about it. But this morning, I found another raisin in my bed.
This time it was bigger.
It was long and just as squishy, about the size of a garden slug. I got up close and I realized… it was not a raisin. It was a shit. A gecko shit. One slight movement from my foot would have smeared this gecko shit all over the bed sheet, as it was obviously a fresh one, deposited at the crack of dawn.
I’ve not seen this gecko yet, but I’ve heard him. He sounds like an elephant sneezing. I had one like it once called Monet who lived behind a painting. He eats all the flies and stuff, which is nice of him, but really… I’d rather he didn’t shit them out again on my bed. Just leave them buzzing about; I’d rather swat them from my face than roll on their digested organs as soon as I wake up, thinking they’re raisins. Seriously.
They’re getting bigger by the day, too. I don’t know if this is a sign that I should be cleaning my house more. If he’s finding this much to eat I should probably get the broom out more often, (read: get the cleaner over more often). Yes… I think I will. At the rate he’s going he’ll be crapping piles bigger than me soon. First a raisin, then a grape, then a plum, then a cantaloupe… then… a bus? A bus-sized gecko turd. On my bed. On ME. I could literally die in the night. Suffocated by pooh.
Ugh. I think he’s probably mates with Adolf downstairs. They just like to wind me up.
I’ll never look at raisins the same way again.