My wife and I wandered into a pet shop in our neighbourhood the other day, seeking crickets (Lizard Guy's Shop of Wonders was closed). There was a baby chameleon there. He was in the wrong sort of cage (long instead of tall, all glass, no ventilation). Seeing him made us feel good about how good we are to little Monk, and terrible about the little gaffer there in the pet shop. He was brown and tiny, sunken-eyed and shriveled, more like a sad raisin than a well-adjusted reptile. What were we supposed to do? Rescue it? Start all over again with Chameleon Number Two? We left the shop, sad. I went home and stared at Monk, green and happily lizardish, for half an hour without moving from my spot.
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