How to Live with An Alligator for Dummies

A small house feels undoubtedly smaller when you share your residence with an alligator. There are numerous reasons why this reptilian factor adds inconvenience to living arrangements—some, I feel I can safely say, are more obvious than others; some hold slight nuance that can only really be understood from experience. As a result, I have written this small guide to assist those who have recently decided to either adopt an alligator as a pet or have been forced into cohabitation by unforeseen circumstances.

For starters, reptiles require constant access to water at any given moment. This becomes frustrating when one is in need of a shower, and an alligator aggressively bears its teeth as it is in need of an immediate submersion in the bath to heat its cold blood. This is understandable and quite reasonable, as alligators (unlike humans), are cold-blooded creatures, and so this factor may be understood and forgiven. The matter becomes rather tiresome, however, when the alligator seems to suspiciously require these facilities at the exact moment you yourself require them. Perhaps alligators are intuitive creatures; perhaps they are selfish—the matter requires more research.

You may find that your routine becomes subtly, yet unmistakably, dictated by the alligator’s whims. Take, for example, the act of tidying your room. One might assume this is a straightforward task, but have you ever paused to consider an alligator’s intense sensitivity to drawers closing from across the hall? This may disturb the alligator from his activities or from watching football on a Thursday evening. And anyone who knows anything about alligators will know that football is a non-negotiable factor in cohabitation. It’s a delicate balance—one that I’ve honed after making this mistake.

For those considering cohabitation with an alligator, it’s important to recognise the fine art of avoiding its gaze. The alligator, much like the early morning sun, is best appreciated from a distance—preferably through a crack in the door or the reflection in a polished spoon. Eye contact, as I’ve learned, can often be mistaken for a challenge, and while I have no desire to wrestle an alligator in my own living room, the alligator seems perpetually poised for such an event.

I’ve begun to notice small changes in myself. My footsteps have become lighter, more cautious, as if I’m testing the ground before every step. My voice, once confident, now falters, even when there are no alligators around. Even my laughter, when it escapes, is muted, as if the walls themselves are complicit in maintaining the alligator’s dominance.

Sometimes, I feel my teeth slightly sharper than usual. My skin flakes and, under certain lights, holds a green tinge. I wonder if living with an alligator forces you to become part alligator yourself, in order to adapt.

Moving away from an alligator is something that crosses anyone’s mind who cohabits with one—people who do not live with alligators would think this is a facile and obvious decision. But leaving an alligator is not as simple as walking out the door. There are logistics to consider. As hard as it is to adapt to living with the alligator, it is equally hard to live without one. I’ve read stories of people whose lives are forever shadowed by the specter of an alligator lurking just out of sight.

Besides, alligators are not all bad. Why else would I write this guide if it weren’t perfectly possible—and plausible—to live with one?

Alligators, famously, can be most charming at times. I wonder if the readers of this guide have ever had the pleasure of listening to alligators sing or spent a summer afternoon playing football with one in the park. Have you ever had the pleasure of talking to an alligator about literature? Oh, you simply must try it. The alligator is skilled in many departments, ranging from literary to sporting!

It can be worth the risk to have a wonderful alligator most of the time, even if he may throw, lash, or thrash occasionally.

And so, one can live with an alligator, depending on your resilience and ability to adapt to coexistence. It really might be more about you than the alligator, if I am to be perfectly honest in my advice. I wonder if you have ever considered that it may be you who is the problem! Not quiet, not docile, not adaptable enough.

Perhaps one day I’ll wake up and the alligator will be gone, a fading memory of something that was never really there. Or perhaps I’ll wake up and find that I’ve become the alligator myself, my teeth sharp and my skin thick, with a cold-blooded resolve.

But until then, I’ll adapt to suit the alligator, keep my movements deliberate, my head down, and my laughter soft—just in case.