I am happy you seem to have survived my accidental onslaught. I want you to know that, tiny as you are, I first thought you to be a bit of vegetable matter detritus carried in on the hairy heels of Russell Jenkins. Then, I put my glasses on, because sweeping the floor without wearing them has shown to be ineffective. So, vision restored, I saw you for what you were. A tiny little brown spotted thing, not half as long as my index finger.
And, dear lizard, I thought you were dead.
Which is why I tried to sweep you up, you see?
But, dear lizard, you scurried.
Which was why I made that sound, you see?
So, dear lizard, my own lizard brain took the reins, fearing that you planned to nestle yourself up in my ear and into my brain as I slept.
Which was why I kept trying to get you in the dust pan, you see?
Because, dear lizard, I was REALLY trying to scoop you up and release you to freedom.
Which was why my broom action got so vigorous, you see?
And once, dear lizard, I’d finally gotten you in the pan, it seemed I’d hurt you, so I found myself both scared and sad.
Which was why I was still making that screeching noise when I opened the front door and tossed you out, you see?
But, thanks be, dear lizard (because I refuse to believe the cats got you) you must be okay and gone to repair yourself, because upon screwing up my courage to look out my front door, you seem to have moved on.
Which is why I can tuck up for a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s long work day.
Seriously, I hope that little dude/dudette is okay.