Well, it wasn't Kenny. It could have been Kenny, if it had a name.
But it didn't have a name.
It was a baby gecko that my son had just been so happily talking about.
He wanted to know if we could keep it for a pet.
And I told him since it lived in our toilet*, it was our pet.
He wanted to put it in a box.
But I told him it would be much better for it to be able to run around wherever it wants.
And we could see it all the time so it could be our pet.
My boy went to sleep happy with that.
Then just before I went to bed, I went to the toilet,
and squished the damn thing with my sheep skin slippered foot!
Well it was hiding under the door, so when I pushed it open, I stepped right on top of it.
Silly little bugger, bad hiding spot!
I had that 'ick' feeling in my throat.
I don't know what was worse, knowing that I was a gecko murderer, or having to dispose of it!
I loaded up my hand with toilet paper and sent it off to the same burial ground that our dead fish go to.
Well, it was very close by.
I didn't have the heart to tell my boy.
Luckily there were two baby geckos living in the toilet.
So there's only one now, but maybe my boy won't even notice that one is missing.
I'm crossing my fingers!!
And I'll live the rest of my days knowing that I killed the gecko that could have been Kenny.
* By 'toilet' I don't mean the toilet toilet, I mean the room that the toilet is in. But who says toilet room?