...and a cartoon short to cleanse the palette

The door to the lizard's cage has been left unlatched. He doesn't notice until the mouse stops kicking and becomes uninteresting. He bumps the door with his nose. It moves. He bumps the door again with his nose and, again, it moves. A third time and it is open. All four legs move at the same time, and every now and then, when none of them are touching, he bumps his hgut and slaps his chin on the floor. He grinds his teeth against his cheeks and tongues the roof of his mouth. His eyes dart left and right. There is no one to stop him. He is a rocket, aimed at the spider underneath the couch. The spider is smug and taunts the lizard. No more.

His breath quickens as the short hunt commences, his nostrils suck in dust and web. He is a shooting star streaking towards the kitchen tile. He knew the function of a window, and the formica is more afraid of his yellow claws than they are of climbing.

A trap! Doom! He has never felt the surface of wet salad bowl before, and fights to keep footing. His front legs slide and grasp until they find dry land. He thrusts his full grin into the green-and-yellow flesh of a hard sponge and rips it in two. The sky is blue outside and iguanas do not bruise so he braves the drop and finds the highway. He comes across an aardvark retiree along the way, adventuring in the direction of his tongue all along the red dirt and black pace of the American Southwest.

Lost pet signs are posted and ignored. He is never again seen, except by truck drivers and motorcycle gangs, and never wears another leash. The boy who originally wanted a puppy, and was put in charge of latching his pet's cage, finally gets his wish.