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Yes, it’s official… I’m a mad lizard lady
Cornie the chameleon has been an entertaining pet for Judith Woods and family – when he’s not hiding...
Our neighbour’s burly son is in our front garden, deep inside the 20ft viburnum, gingerly hacking away at the branches as I teeter nearby on a stepladder peering into the foliage. The neighbour opposite has fetched his binoculars and is doing the same.
Another dad, back from the city on his Brompton bike, is anxiously requesting an update on the hunt for Cornelius, our beloved family pet and star of the entire road.
“Can you see him?” No. “Should we call the fire brigade?” No! Then a concerned passer-by chips in: “Can’t you just tempt him down with cat food?”
At this we turn round en masse, in slightly overheated indignation (we’ve been searching for quite a long time).
“Cat food? Why on earth would we want to use cat food?” In fairness it wasn’t an unreasonable inference. How was she to know Cornelius is not a common or garden tabby but a fiendishly camouflaged chameleon? My husband comes home from work, sticks his head out of the bedroom window and eventually spies him. It was his white stripe that gave him away; when Cornelius is particularly excited he gets a white line that runs the entire length of his body.
And let’s face it, climbing out of the window has probably been one of his most exhilarating experiences. But he was retrieved and returned to his heated vivarium and karma was restored. It would truly have been a disaster if we’d failed to find him, because, despite my initial misgivings, Cornie (as we affectionately call him) has proven to be an unexpectedly important member of the family.
I’ve never previously had much interest in reptiles; as a child, gerbils were my passion. I named them after my sisters and would cause consternation when I announced that Grace was pregnant or that Ruth had eaten her babies. But then my teenage daughter asked for a crested gecko three years ago and Sabine, as she was immediately christened, turned out to be utterly charming. Originally hailing from New Caledonia in the Pacific, crested geckos are sweet, lively and active in the evenings; my daughter takes Sabine out when she clamours at the front of her glass tank, and lets her leap about the bedsheets, hunting imaginary crickets.
I thought we were done, but it transpired that little Sabine was a gateway reptile; every time we visited the specialist shop where we bought her, my husband was transfixed by the chameleons. Eventually he wore me down – bearing in mind we already have two dogs, I thought it insane to get another pet – and we ordered a male panther chameleon, at a cost of £150.
Males are far more colourful than females, who tend to be drab and don’t live long after breeding, which is physically arduous for them. But even with a male you can never be sure what their colours will be; you just cross your fingers and hope. With Cornelius we struck gold. Or at least bright green, red and white, running to dark maroon if he’s not happy.
Contrary to popular belief he doesn’t change according to the background; but given our sitting room is Chinese green, he blends in a bit too well. Like the time we “lost” him for three hours only to discover him watching us from on top of the bookcase.
He lives in a mesh-sided cage, with a heat lamp, fake foliage (the living stuff kept dying) and real branches for him to climb. Chameleons hail from Madagascar – although Cornelius was bred in Wales – where it is humid, so he has a water dripper and we also mist the cage regularly with a plant sprayer – to remind him of Cardiff.
He eats live food; locusts, crickets, cockroaches and worms. And best of all you can watch him because he’s diurnal, which means he’s awake all day.
Initially we weren’t sure how tame he would become, but we needn’t have worried. We handled him from the beginning and now, as soon as we open his cage he will run straight on to my outstretched hand and up my arm, his toes and tail clasping me tight.
If he isn’t interested in attention he will turn his back, to show he wants to be left alone, which typically happens during periods of moulting, when he turns a ghostly white as the top layer of his skin dries before shedding.
As well as being less sociable he’s less hungry around then too, which is a shame as there are few greater parlour entertainments than the sight of his long and sticky green tongue whipping out of his mouth to land on a locust. The neighbours love to watch; hence the consternation over his escape.
I usually let him out of his cage for a few hours daily and he has free run of the sitting room. Some days he is content to lurk in the foliage of the indoor pachira we bought for him at Ikea.
On other occasions he will climb down and go walkabout; the dogs got the fright of their lives the first time they encountered him on the floor, not least because he went postbox red and puffed up his body, hissing at them. Although chameleons are solitary, Cornie lent Christmas a karmic calm. He’d race across the floor to climb the tree and would stay there all day if he could, stock still among the twinkling lights, save for his eyes, moving independently in different directions.
We adore him, obviously. Does he adore us back? That would be overstating it, but after our summer holiday, when he boarded at a place called the Reptile Ranch, he launched himself at the children as soon as they opened the door, climbed on to Tabitha’s head and radiated the bright colours of contentment, white stripes and all.
After his great escape – I had stupidly left a window open – I bought him a harness and lead. Yes, yes, I do know what you’re thinking. I am officially a mad lizard lady.
The harnesses are designed for bearded dragons and I assumed it would fit, which it did. But being more sinuous, a chameleon – our chameleon at any rate – can easily contort his way out of it. So it’s back to closing the windows instead.
He’s been with us for almost two years already; the average panther chameleon has a lifespan of just three. It’s poignant to think time is already running out, but we will continue to enjoy his company. And his karma.