So here it is in the early 70s, I’m all alone in the house tonight, ’cause I’m gonna stay in and real The Exorcist. It’s supposed to be one of the scariest horror novels ever written, and I want to savor the full effect of it.
I go down to our finished basement to read. Nobody here but me and my iguana, and the latter is asleep in his cage after gobbling up the nice salad that my mother made him for his supper.
I settle down in my favorite chair, right under the floor lamp, with my back just a few inches from the lizard cage. I start reading. I keep reading–because, say hey, this book really is scary! It’s sucking me into it: I couldn’t stop reading if I wanted to.
At that moment the great big iguana wakes from his nap and decides to jump off his perch onto the screen three inches from the back of my neck–yow! Through the ceiling! Out of the chair! Book goes flying! Iguana looks at me quizzically, wondering why I’m acting up. I’ve got to catch my breath. I am afraid a harsh word or two escapes my lips.
Well, that’s one of those things about pets, isn’t it? Full of surprises!