The Flaming Iguana

In case you did not know, I live in an apartment, which means I live in a building with seven other units; three on the first floor and four on the second. I've lived here for about a year and a half and everything has gone well. There were stories of the peeping tom that lives upstairs, bullet casings found in the parking lot and the all too common Mormon/Jehovah's Witnesses' paying a visit. I have not had problems with any. That is not to say that things have been boring; though I would use the qualifier 'peaceful.'

There are things in life that you never, ever think about. Events or happenings that you would deem as 'too crazy' to even have dreams about... like one about a man with bicycle hands who gets into a moose throwing contest and is then chased by little sharks wearing knapsacks*. On the list of things I would never think would happen, this ranks up there.

I think it was in September, I can't be sure... maybe late August. I was walking into my building and heard a fantastic buzzing noise. I can only describe it as the most annoying apartment ringer times 10. The weather was nice enough, so our upstairs neighbors had their windows open, which allowed this terrible tone to be blasted throughout the parking lot. As I entered the building, the buzzing only grew louder, and as I went into my apartment, it grew louder still. I stood in the hallway of my apartment staring straight up. Whatever it was, it was directly above the bedroom. My girlfriend and I cursed, then shrugged our shoulders and said it was going to be a long night.

I got onto the computer to check some things but was soon met by the sound of stomping from above. It sounded like someone was just running through the apartment, jumping up and down. No problem, they seem a bit weird anyway. About five minutes later, I noticed red flashing lights peeking out of the corner of my curtains, followed by more stomping around. Still, I didn't think about it. I pulled the curtains of our sliding glass door aside and looked out: just flashing lights, no people. I opened the sliding glass door and stepped out. The main entryway door flew open and a firefighter in full uniform, including the mask, ran out. I could see he was holding something rather big and that he was coming straight towards me. It sounded like how you would think it to sound, "Herreh eh neheh pellehkeh neh!" If you want to hear for yourself, just cover your mouth with an open hand and say something. As he met me, which was about three steps and took a half a second, I could make out what he was saying,

"Hurry, I need a pillowcase, now!" I knew what he said. I understood the words. My brain took the sentence and processed it very quickly. Still, I said, "What?" Before he had time to respond, he was inside the apartment, looking around. I leaned in and asked again, "WHAT?" He turned to me and said, again, clearly "I NEED A PILLOWCASE! OR A CLOSET! SOMETHING!" It was at this point that I was able to see what he was holding.

Cradled in his arms, much like Ernst Blofeld's cat in the Bond movies, was a nearly two foot long iguana. My brain, still not comprehending the intrusion of a screaming firefighter, thought it was fake. "Why does he need a pillowcase for that statue?" My girlfriend ran and ripped a pillow off the couch and handed the pillowcase the firefighter. While that action may have taken some time to read through, it happened in the span of about five seconds. Step outside, big firefighter, big fire fighter yelling, big firefighter yelling in apartment, lizard in a pillowcase.

As I grabbed the carrier for my cats, (I didn't know how substantial the fire was or if the whole ceiling was going to collapse into our bedroom) I could hear the neighbor crying outside, calling her boyfriend at work... to explain that their iguana had gotten loose and knocked the heat lamp onto a pile of laundry, starting the clothes and carpet on fire. Apparently, "during their egg cycle, iguanas want to find the hardest, coldest location." In a two bedroom apartment, that would be the bathtub. They had another lizard upstairs, too. Iggy. His fate was to be decided.

There I sat on the hood of my car, watching seemingly sourceless flashlights cut through the smoke, now billowing out of the windows. A firefighter burst through the top bedroom window, yelling something that was again muffled by his mask, with a flaming something in his right hand. Oh no, I thought. The other lizard. He yelled something again and then threw the flaming something onto the grass below. Just a pair of flaming pants. It smoldered on the lawn for some time before being extinguished. The charred spot is still there, only buried under six inches of snow. We were given the okay to re-enter the building after about an hour. The smell of smoke stayed for about a day before disappearing.

On my list of "Things That Will Never Happen To Me", a firefighter bursting into my home and demanding a pillowcase for his two-foot iguana is non-existent. That's not the kind of thing you prepare for, and the notion is so ridiculous that you would dismiss it immediately, but listen to me: Be sure to have an extra pillowcase handy at all times.