One of the last of the big stuff items on the now extinct Priority To Do List, which I burned in an almost religious ceremony of gratitude, was pressure washing and re-staining the porch. Just before spreading down the plastic to protect painted areas from stain, I spotted the fellow below. To try and prove to myself that the photojournalist in me had not been totally beaten down into oblivion and to document his confusion, I snapped a picture of him, peeking from the plastic which had become his last hiding place.
He (or she) is clearly contemplating life's great questions:
- Where have all the plants gone that used to be here on the porch?
- How can I escape off the porch since the hole in the screen has been patched?
- Where is food?
- Am I about to die?
- It's already November -- have I missed mating season entirely?
- Why is God pointing that damned Nikon at me again?
- Is it safe to quench my thirst by drinking Valspar Dark Redwood Weatherproofing Stain?
- Why is God now moaning and grabbing the small of his back everytime he stands up?
- If God sells the house, will the new owners of the house also have cats?
- If I do manage to get off the porch, is the dreaded black snake still living in the crawl space?
- How are the other chameleons coping, or am I the last of my species left on Earth?
- If I'm a chameleon, why can't I turn white?