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She first noticed him clinging to a window screen in her father's living room.
He was an inch long, a baby brown anole lizard.
Native of Cuba and the Bahamas. Common in Florida.
But she was in Wisconsin.
A St. Petersburg jewelry designer, Valerie Brandli, 38, drove to her dad's in Madison in early June to sell at the farmers market. The lizard must have hitched a ride.
It seemed frail. Valerie went outside and coaxed an ant onto a stick, stuck the bug in the lizard's face. The lizard seemed to cringe.
A week passed. It disappeared.
Then one day, there it was at the edge of a small vase of wild flowers by the kitchen sink. Valerie couldn't believe how excited she was.
For the next three weeks, the lizard hung out by the sink. Valerie was careful not to put dirty dishes on top of him or wash him down the drain.
At the end of June, she decided to bring him back to Florida. She got a piece of Tupperware, cut holes in it, set it up with stones, water, red clover.
By this time, she'd decided it was a boy and named him Homer. She talked to him.
Everything is going to be okay.
She fretted. Would he be snatched by airport security? Would he survive the pressurized cabin?
Homer, you'll be home soon.
At the airport security checkpoint, she removed her Columbia flip-flops, placed her laptop in the bin, and thrust the Tupperware at a security guard. "It's a lizard with some rocks and some flowers," she said.
He didn't ask. She didn't tell. He handed the lizard back.
The next morning, she took the lizard out to the yard. She put the container on its side next to an aloe plant and watched.
Progress was slow. Mosquitoes bit her ankles. He didn't move, so she went back inside. An hour later, he was still there. All around him, his own kind flitted through the dirt and plants.
Three hours later, she checked on him for what seemed like the fifth time. He spotted her, cocked his head so she saw one eye.
He did the lizard head bob. For some reason, she felt relieved.
She's not sure if he's still in her yard. She can't tell the difference between him and the others. But whenever a lizard stops and looks at her, she imagines it's him, and she says hi.
Leonora LaPeter Anton, Times staff writer
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