Howdy, folks. Glen Blamstead here. Back in the spring my brother-in-law over in Braham sent me an ad for what he described as "a very reasonably priced chameleon," and I thought, well, we could probably use one of those at the shop. So I ordered him. He arrived in a little terrarium about six weeks ago. I can't find him. That was the deal.
That is not a joke I made up. It is a statement of fact. His name is Kevin, and I have not laid eyes on Kevin since approximately July twelfth.
In fairness to Kevin, he is doing exactly what nature designed him to do. He is a chameleon. Blending in is the whole job description. I did not adopt a chameleon expecting him to be conspicuous. I did, however, expect to be able to feed him without conducting a search party twice a day.
The crew has strong opinions about Kevin. Cody thinks he is behind the water heater. Jared thinks he made it out of the terrarium the first week and now lives in the walls, which, if true, would make Kevin the most successful escape artist ever employed at a Sherman jobsite. My wife has stopped asking about Kevin and now just says things like "how's your imaginary lizard" when she brings me a sandwich, which I find unhelpful.
Kevin's terrarium is set up correctly. I read the pamphlet. There is a heat lamp, a UVB bulb, a small live plant, a branch of the appropriate diameter, a little water misting system, and a mister that goes off every two hours. All of that gear works fine. It is doing exactly what it was designed to do. The only missing element is Kevin.
I asked the fella at the pet store about it when I stopped in Cambridge last week to pick up some more crickets. I told him, respectfully, that I had purchased a chameleon and now had no chameleon. He nodded like this was a well-known situation, which apparently it is. He said, "Have you tried misting the plant?" I said I had. He said, "Have you looked up?" I said I had looked up. Repeatedly. He said, "Have you looked up but slowly?" I said no, I had looked up at normal speed, like a person. He said, "Try it slow."
So I went back to the shop and I looked up slowly. Nothing. Just ceiling. Nice ceiling, actually — put in a decent tongue-and-groove up there a couple summers back, holds up well. But no Kevin.
A customer came by on Tuesday to talk about a barndominium out toward Ogilvie. Nice couple, both in their sixties, retiring off a hobby farm. She saw the terrarium sitting on the counter with the heat lamp on and no visible inhabitant and asked, politely, what was going on. I told her the truth. I told her there was a chameleon in there, or near there, or possibly in the ductwork by now, but that his name was Kevin and he was, technically speaking, part of the Sherman Buildings staff.
She said, "How does he help."
I said, "He does not help. He is invisible."
She said, "So he is a decorative animal."
I said, "Yes ma'am. He is a decorative animal that has not been seen in three weeks."
Her husband started laughing so hard he had to sit down on the porch swing outside the shop and take a minute. He kept saying "a decorative animal," like it was the funniest phrase he had encountered in his lifetime, which, for him, it may well have been. Nice fella. Bought a nice building. Kevin approved from wherever he is.
The Case For Optimism
Here is what I keep coming back to. Somewhere in this shop, right now, there is a small green lizard who is having the time of his life. He has heat when he wants it. He has water. He has a large, complicated environment full of interesting surfaces. He has, presumably, been catching bugs on his own, which is a hobby he enjoys. He is thriving. I just happen not to be part of his experience anymore, which, if I am being honest, may be exactly the arrangement he was hoping for when he signed on.
The crew has taken to yelling "KEVIN" at odd moments throughout the day. It has not helped locate him, but it has become a kind of shop tradition, like knocking on the truck hood before you get in on a cold morning. Kevin is now a shared cultural reference. He is, in that sense, doing more for morale than most non-invisible employees.
Practical Advice
If you are considering getting a chameleon for a small business, I would offer a few pieces of hard-won wisdom. First, name him something you will not be embarrassed to yell across the yard. Second, take a photograph on day one, because it may be the only photograph you ever have. Third, keep feeding him. He is in there. Almost definitely. Probably.
Fourth, if you happen to be near Mora and you see a small green lizard giving you a knowing look from an unexpected location, please holler at us. His name is Kevin. He is missed. He is also, apparently, doing great.
That was the deal.
