When screams and squeals formerly elicited sheer panic and would cause me to hurl myself down whatever flight of stairs stood in between me and the p.i.d. (Person in Distress), since I moved into an apartment of six girls, such things now fail to excite. One could say that screams and squeals have become, in fact, commonplace. I have even started to distinguish the tone and volume of the scream/squeal. There’s the low-pitch grumble that builds to a roar which usually means that “someone ate my baked goods!” Or the bursts of squeals, that sounds over an over las if someone pressed the repeat button, which indicates that the squealer has gotten a good grade and/or a text message from the crush of the week. And then of course there’s the high-pitched jubilant screech, a yelp that could wake the dead and summon a dog which can only suggest one thing and one thing only–letter from a missionary! This is perhaps the reason that I did not stir when I heard the latter screech issue from our living room today. It took my roommate tearing up the stairs to inform me between gasps that: “There’s a lizard in our apartment,” to rouse my interest. Had I misinterpreted the wails from downstairs from missionary letter to reptile run amok?

I went downstairs to find that there was indeed a package from a missionary. My roommate Jessica stood over the box in disbelief. The box should have said, “Warning, large reptilian beast inside. Do not shake.” But instead, in a kind letter from a missionary friend, he kindly informed us that we had a new friend named Norman. Surely, a joke, we postulated. Surely he would not send a real lizard, and surely if he did, it would be dead by now. And while we convinced ourselves that quite certainly no one was stupid enough to send live animalia halfway across the United States, we still decided to best open the peanut butter jar outside, just in case. And sure enough, when we poured the contents of the peanut butter jar (with five holes poked carefully in the top of its cobalt blue lid), onto the picnic table, Little Norman scampered out, very much alive. We let out the “there’s a non-fluffy somewhat grotesque but oddly endearing animal in our midst scream” and took a step back. But it only took a moment to embrace Norman as part of little family at Love Potion # 9. We funneled him into our homemade pop bottle terrarium and put him on our mantle. We welcome and embrace our new pet.

For all you Australian missionaries out there, I’ll have you know I’m expecting my kangaroo by mail in the next month.