The lizards were out today, basking, skittering about, giving me reptilian glances. I like the lizards. My cat likes the lizards, too, but in a different way. I'm content to watch them, but the cat chases them. Even when the weather is terribly hot, and she wastes no energy on the tasty birds, she can't resist going after a lizard. I was like that until I was nine or ten years old (though I never tried to eat a lizard.) If I saw a lizard, I was compelled to catch it and pick it up, to feel the supple, textured skin, to examine the delicate feet, to look into the cold, ancient eyes and wonder in what way the small brain interpreted the sight of me and the experience of being lifted off the familiar ground by some huge, heat-emiting creature. I still wonder if reptiles enjoy the touch of warm human skin. Surely, they must, drawn as they are to heat. But I'm sure they prefer the feel of a warm rock and the rays of the summer sun. They would certainly prefer either to the attentions of a sharp-clawed cat. They aren't good for the cat, anyway. Whenever she eats one, she invariably tosses it up soon after. Today, they all escaped her, and none were forced to leave their wriggling, detached tails behind. Thus, I am doubly fortunate. I don't have a sick kitty tossing up lizard chunks on the carpet, and I might get to enjoy further lizard-watching tomorrow. Because of this, and because the delta breeze has at last begun to bring a bit of cool air up from San Francisco Bay, I would account this day a success, even though nothing else of any particular interest occurred.