Parents of small boys are bound to run into this repulsive creature sooner or later along with snakes, toads and other assorted goodies; but this thing called a chameleon is possibly the slipperiest, jumpingest and downright ugliest of them all, and boys love them.
We met Camille at the Livestock Show in Chicago two years ago. The man with the color changing oddities declared their life span was about a year in captivity, and that the small packet of food included would be ample. Knowing our energetic son Tom, I figured a life span of a week would be the fate of this scaly lizard purchased with his carefully hoarded dollar.
Never underestimate the regenerative power of a chameleon. Instead of living up to the famous Camille for which he or she was named--this ugly critter has thrived and continued to gulp down a type of mealy worm (also repulsive) by the hundreds.
A chameleon resembles a small prehistoric animal, is from the lizard family and his head doesn't turn. The eyes are large and prominent and can move independently.
Our little monster has eating habits which have much to be desired. It is always a race to see if the worm can dig into the sand before the myopic-eye of Camille spots him. If the worm loses, the long, sticky tongue of Camille and I head for other household duties.
These worms are wriggly, changeable things too. In fact the first time I purchased fifty of them only to discover before they were half gone that the clever little things turned into offensive, black, crawly bugs which even Camille refused to eat. Now we buy them in lots of ten so they don't have time to transform into another state.
Camille disappeared the first time about the same time that Santa made his appearance. Thankfully I put away the fish globe and stepped around the house lightly for a few days. Camille was forgotten until we took down the Christmas tree. There as green as the tree, and clinging to a cluster of pine needles was our ugly boarder. Sadly I brought out the fish globe, made another trip to the pet shop for chameleon worms and things nervously settled down.
Along about summer came the agonized cry of Tom rang through the house--again Camille was gone--this time for good I hoped. And it seemed too good to be true when two weeks passed and he was still missing. But taking down the white ruffled curtains in the living room for a quick dunking, I discovered Camille nestled in the folds. I think he scared me as much as I scared him and my yell brought Tom. Back went the chameleon with a protective screen over the bowl this time to curb his high jumping.
A friend of mine took Camille while we were on vacation. She has a small boy who eagerly volunteered to chameleon sit, so all was fine.
When we returned the fish bowl was sadly handed back to me, empty. Somehow Camille had pushed off the screen on top and disappeared. About a week later my friend gleefully called me to say that her husband had been trimming the rose bush near the house and who should he find but Camille--Would I come and get it right away.
Camille is still a member of this family, the ugliest member I might add. He's disappeared two other times only to be found again.
Today a small landslide of books knocked the fish globe from Tom's desk and Camille's home was a mess of splinters. Camille, rudely awakened from a sort of winter hibernation, sped toward freedom. Picturing Tom's crestfallen face, I slid my hand over Camille from the rear. Even though my spine is still tingling, our friend is back in a new plastic bowl.
So may I add a word of caution. The next time you take your small son to a circus or wild west show and you pass a plywood board plastered with these changeable, jumping things, keep a firm hand on small fingers--talk fast--pull firmly, or you'll find you too might have a leapin' lizard in your house.
Written February 22, 1962