The life and times of Fna

Yesterday we spotted on the terrace ceiling the tiniest geckolet ever. I caught him in an empty yogurt can with a sheet of paper, and deposited him on my coffee table for heee-ing, haw-ing and assorted faintings, because he's incredibly adorable as you can no doubt attest.

He was baptised Fna in loving memory of one of Jack Lemmon's best creations (recall, The Odd Couple ?), and then everyone went about their own business, because who's going to stay and watch a tiny gecko 36 hours straight.

Little Fna was apparently very happy on the promised land on which the strange bipedal gods took him (with their strange flying nacelle thing), because left there forgotten were a pair of thick, woolen mitts, which provided for a most spacious, insulating (sound and heat!) housy.

Also on the same coffee table there are a pair of potted orchids, and a collection of extremely cute tiny spiders, hardly a milimeter long but blessed with tiny white legs which strangely contrast against their dark bodies and produce interference in passing rays of light perpetually go to and fro the two pots in complicated directions and patters only by them understood.

Thereby little Fna had the best shelter any tiny gecko ever enjoyed, and also a perpetual food parade right on his front lawn. So overjoyed was he by this turn of events, that he even turned his very light green complexion (from back when he was hanging out on the mostly white terrace) into the beautiful deep wooden coat you can now admire.

And he's coming out to check out the strange technologies of the people folk, which is how I've got the only coffee table with a resident mini-gecko.