The lizards have returned to my kitchen porch, although they have not given birth there. That special event was reserved for Lark Kitty. She would press her little face against one of the lower panes on the single French door and the lizards, or Lizzies, would assemble peeping up at her from the other side of the glass. One morning during the COVID lockdown, Lark called me to the door to witness the birth of the Lizettes. I had a feeling that she was godmother to at least one of the babies, which is a good thing as the moms basically popped them out on the cement floor and took off as soon as they were born. They must have known Lark would look after them, and she did. They were her first stop in the morning. None of this would I have known had they not invited Lark to the birthing ceremony, and she took me along as her plus-one. In the barely two months since Lark left this world to spread her love in her next realm, the Lizzies have returned regularly to their perch on the porch.  “You’re welcome to hang here as often as you want,” I tell them. “I miss her, too.” They seem to be taking to me, although clearly they preferred Lark. I suspect they are being nice to me out of respect for the kitty who loved me. The squirrels were a different story.  They used to meet up with Lark at the lower panes of glass on the French doors that separate my office from the deck. Lark was the only one who knew where they hid their nuts and seeds for winter. She could tell which squirrel belonged to which flower pot where they had buried their food. Their interaction was more physical with paws meeting on either side of the window pane, so, if the glass had been removed, they would have been shaking hands. Her bird friends outside the library window seat, her favorite lookout spot, keep her memory alive in song. The morning birds, after whom Lark was named, tweet to her at dawn and the nightingales, that used to sing us both to sleep, now sing only to me. Email [email protected]. Follow her on X @patriciabunin and Patriciabunin.com  Related Articles Things To Do | A rose pressed into a book of love poems inspires a new set of memories Things To Do | Recalling a cold, lonely moment in a stubbornly divided time Things To Do | 26 years cancer-free and I’m still feeling over the moon Things To Do | Why growing gopher mounds could mean a flurry of furries Things To Do | Taking refuge from the heatwave as a movie churns up memories