In warm weather, skinks hang out on our front porch. No matter how ripely foul my mood is, I get a kick out of seeing them EVERY SINGLE TIME because, well, they're COOL!
Know what's NOT cool though? Hearing scuttling and crunching in your bedroom at night for two nights in a row, thinking you have mice, and arguing with your spouse over whether HIS desk-snacking or YOUR bed-snacking drew the vermin.
What's less uncool but still not great is when it turns out the scuttling and crunching was a skink in the house (which is cool since the crunching means less bugs, but uncool in that if you're me you worry about it getting stepped on/tortured by small boys/into something toxic to lizards), and trying to figure out how to apprehend the bugger without making her (yes, it was a girl--the boys are flashier-looking) drop her tail, because then you would cry.
If this ever happens to you, the best way to humanely capture a lizard in your house is to corner it in the bathroom, lay the flat side of a paper grocery bag against the floor in a corner, open end by a corner, and scare the lizard into running inside. Then fold the top over and release your scaly little friend outdoors. If it was behind the only toilet in a house with four male occupants, only one of whom has any ability to, er, aim then the nice thing to do would probably be to fill a plastic cup with warm water and pour that over the lizard after releasing it (but before it recovers enough to run like hell) to remove any cleaning product residue or pee.
Or, you know, do that and THEN subject it to a photo shoot:
Figure Two: Right after she leapt off the wall ninja-style at your camera-toting heroine, tumbling into a mop-bucket containing a pollen-covered umbrella. Probably she was just going to give me a big hug; you can totes see the gratitude on her face! Or maybe that's outrage. Reptiles are tough to read like that.
Figure Three: Sunning herself and recovering from her ordeal. Or possibly plotting revenge. Again, hard to say.