The Care and Feeding of Exotic Pets by Diana Wagman Read Free Book Online

knew he was going into mating season; his beautiful green skin had turned a dark burnt orange. He was more aggressive and antsy. His legs pumped. He bobbed his head up and down. His tongue flicked out and in, looking for love. Oren was waiting for the call from his supplier, he’d picked out a sweet little lady iguana to keep Cookie company.
    â€œCome here.”
    The iguana backed up one step toward Oren. His tail swished back and forth against the floor. Oren chewed on what was left of his nail and cuticle. He ran his other hand down the spiked ridge on Cookie’s tail. Cookie stood tall, puffed out his chest, let his beautiful Asian fan of a dewlap swell. Cookie was anxious.
    â€œMe too.”
    Oren was proud to call Cookie his best friend. It was obvious Cookie loved him. He woke up when Oren got home and scrambled to the door. He knew his name, and Oren could swear Cookie knew the difference between cabbage and kale, carrots and zucchini, just by the word. Do you want carrots?Oren would ask, or zuchs? And Cookie would bob his head up and down for whichever one he preferred. And he was sweet and gentle, even though he was the biggest iguana anybody had seen. Oren took him once to the Iguana Keepers Club meeting. Even the seasoned lizard lovers had stayed back and then watched in awe as Oren let Cookie climb all over him. No wonder everyone called him the Iguana Man.
    â€œCome here,” he said again.
    Cookie dropped his head, but did not turn, so Oren crawled over to him. He stroked the sides his head and scratched the scales under his chin. Cookie nuzzled into his hand. The scales weren’t rough or dry, but smooth like a waxed floor. Cookie relaxed, bent his knees and sunk lower to the floor.
    â€œThat’s it. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
    Oren stretched out beside his friend and continued petting and rubbing, massaging the muscles underneath the slick hide. He breathed deeply the reptile odor, dry and tangy like the kale that was Cookie’s favorite food. He was not a fuck-up. His mother was dead and his dad had taken off, he had lost track of his older sister, but he had a house and a car and a job and Cookie. He had a woman he loved. And he had made a plan and achieved it, at least the first step. Damn it, he had done it. Now for step number two.
    â€œThat’s enough.”
    He stood. He got a glass and filled it with water. He opened a cupboard and found the aspirin bottle. He carried both out of the kitchen and down the hallway to her room.
    He pushed open her door. She had not moved. He set the glass and pills on a box he had arranged beside the bed as a little table. Would she notice the bedside table? The blanket he had hung as a curtain over the window? She should. The bitch should notice all the good he had done for her, the care he wastaking. He had tied her to the bed frame with a thick, nylon rope around her ankles. He was good at knots and he felt proud again at the good job he had done, tight but not cutting off her circulation and fastening it beneath the bed where she could not possibly reach it. He had bought the rope especially for this, and paid for the more expensive nylon so the fibers wouldn’t scratch her. The skin on her legs had been prickly, in need of a shave. He was surprised she was so uncared for. Her skirt was tucked up under her, exposing her thighs and her strange underwear with the pockets. Nothing seemed very clean. Her shirt was covered in blood, but at least it was dry. He did not think she had bled on the sheets. He had not expected her to try to escape. She was not supposed to be such a fighter. He had been led to believe she was a Beverly Hills pampered type who would surrender right away. This was not his fault. Really not his fault.
    He had a blanket in the closet. He shook it out. He covered her completely, but then she looked dead and that was more terrifying than her slack sweaty face. As if the single mattress had become