Lizards in the Rafters, Lizards on the Floor: A Scaly Little Message from the Universe

 

When lizard shows up twice in three days, you pay attention.

It started Thursday, with skittering.

You know the kind—that ominous, unsettling scrabble-scrabble-scritch sound that makes you pause mid-email and stare at the ceiling like it’s about to drop something on your head. I was at work, trying to focus, but whatever was happening above me clearly had other plans. A small stampede? Ceiling goblins? Was the building haunted?

By Friday, it had escalated. More noise. More movement. I was genuinely concerned that something might fall on me mid-meeting. Pest control came to check it out, and the verdict?

A big, fat lizard.

Living his best life up in the ceiling tiles. Just vibing. Well-fed, shiny, probably had a little couch and Netflix up there. We left him alone. I figured, okay—weird, but handled.

Then Sunday happened.

I was at home, enjoying my weekend, when my cat Sunny let out her unmistakable war cry. The kind that makes your blood run cold because you know something with too many legs is probably involved. I rush in expecting a spider.

But nope.
Another lizard.
This time, inside my house.

You know the one—the guttural yowl that says, “I’m a lioness. I have hunted. I have triumphed. Behold.”

Cue panic.

I run in, expecting a spider. A big one. Maybe a scorpion. But nope—Sunny is batting around a second lizard. In the house. On the floor.

This one wasn’t doing so hot. It was upside down, not moving, not breathing. I tried to scoop it up, thinking the poor thing hadn’t made it. I gently placed it outside in a sunny spot (because I’m a soft-hearted witch like that)… and walked away.

Not even five minutes later, I check back—and it’s gone.

Just… gone.

I thought maybe a bird had taken it, but no. A little Googling later and I learned something amazing:

Lizards can play dead.
It’s called “tonic immobility.”
It’s a survival mechanism—when they’re caught or threatened, they go limp and appear lifeless, hoping the danger passes. Like, “Nothing to see here, just your average dead lizard, no need to eat me.”

Y’all.
That little lizard faked its death to escape my cat.
It sold the performance. It won the Oscar. And then it ran away alive like the trickster it is.

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So What Is the Universe Saying With All These Lizards?

Because two lizard events in three days? That’s not just wildlife. That’s a message. That’s witchy business.

Lizard, in symbolism and spiritual traditions, is all about:

• Survival

• Adaptation

• Dreaming

• Detachment

• Rebirth

Lizards are ancient creatures who’ve outlasted empires and natural disasters. They embody the power of subtlety—the art of knowing when to move, when to be still, and when to drop your metaphorical tail and run.

They are deeply connected to the dream world, too—bringing messages about listening to your intuition, paying attention to your inner visions, and navigating your environment with quiet cleverness. When lizard shows up, it’s often a sign to be alert, adaptable, and open to messages from the unseen.

And in my case? Possibly a nudge to fake death when life gets overwhelming. (Just kidding. Sort of.)

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What I’m Taking From This Scaly Visit

I’ve never had a lizard in my house before—now I’ve had two.

One watching over me from the rafters, the other literally playing dead at my feet.

I think lizard came to say:
“Survival doesn’t always mean fighting. Sometimes it means waiting. Sometimes it means knowing when to pretend you’re not even there until the danger passes.”

That hits, honestly.

Sometimes we think power has to look like action. But lizard reminds us that sometimes, survival is quiet. It’s clever. It’s patient. And it’s always watching.

Also, next time I hear skittering above my head, I might just grab a cup of tea and say, “Hey lizard. Got anything else you want to teach me today?”