When we moved into our house 17 years ago, there were dozens of residents already waiting on us.
Four-legged, reptilian residents, boldly claiming our new home as theirs.
We now know them as Lazarus lizards. Then, they were an anomaly: scampering across the front porch, peering out from behind flower pots, ducking inside tuck points in the brick.
Like many neighborhoods in Greater Cincinnati, ours has been inhabited by these little guys for years, and we’ve noticed two things as of late: they’ve gotten more brazen – and they’ve gotten more plentiful.
Estimates are that there are millions in the area. Yep, far more lizards than there are people. All because a kid wanted a pet.
Every good story has some holes in it after generations of retelling, but the prevailing theory is this: 12-year-old George Rau, the stepson of Fred Lazarus, brought back a handful of lizards from a family trip to northern Italy in the early 1950s. He wanted them as pets but eventually released them near his East Walnut Hills home, and they went forth and conquered.
The Lazarus name has double meaning – even if that wasn’t the point. My Vacation Bible School days taught me Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Now the term “lazarus” means the same – coming back to life. Seems appropriate, doesn’t it – for a lizard that can drop and regrow its tail at will.
For years, you didn’t have to look hard to see the little guys sunning themselves or climbing rock walls. But one street over, where my husband grew up, there wasn’t a single lizard to be seen. Strange, right? Kids from the other parts of the neighborhood would come to our yard to catch them.
Now, they’re so commonplace, our dog doesn’t give them a second glance. We know not to leave the front door open or a couple might venture inside, where we definitely give them second glances. Not to mention a return trip back outside.
The kids a couple of blocks over have the lizards in their own backyards now. No need to go hunting for them.
It seems the lizards have done in 70 years what Cincinnati folks still struggle with: they actually move. To different neighborhoods, different counties, even (clutch the pearls) – different states. They crossed the river, y’all. I have questions about that.
Now you’ll find Lazarus lizards, or wall lizards, as they’re called in their native Italy, just about everywhere. And I find myself somewhat attached to them.
Like goetta and Labor Day fireworks and strange, possibly chocolate-infused chili, they’re part of the fabric of this city. But they’re also just like me: non-native natives.
We’re claiming Cincinnati as home. And we aren’t going anywhere.
Kathrine will take lizards over cicadas any day. She also hosts Coffee Break with Kathrine on The Enquirer’s Facebook page, weekdays at 10 a.m. Sign up for her email newsletter at cincinnati.com/newsletters.
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