It started out as an ordinary morning — coffee in hand, keys in my pocket, ready to head to work. But as I stepped outside, something caught my eye under my car. At first, I thought it was nothing more than a plastic bag or an old rag blown in by the wind. But then it moved. My stomach dropped, my heart pounded, and I crouched down to see what was really there. The shadow shifted again, and when I finally got a clear look, my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a bag, and it wasn’t cloth. It was alive.
What I saw looked like it belonged in a swamp, not under a car in a quiet suburban parking lot. Thick, scaly skin glistened in the dim morning light, claws pressed against the pavement, and a long, ridged snout peeked out just enough for me to see its teeth. My mind scrambled to make sense of it. An iguana? A monitor lizard? But as it slid further out, there was no mistaking it — an alligator, massive and injured, hiding beneath my car as kids waited for the bus and neighbors walked their dogs only feet away.
I grabbed my phone, my hands shaking, trying to call animal control as my voice cracked warning the neighborhood kids to stay back. Minutes felt like hours as the creature began to drag itself out, scraping the concrete with a sound that sent chills up my spine. But instead of lunging, it limped. That’s when I saw the deep wound on its leg, bleeding and raw. This wasn’t a predator on the hunt; it was a wounded animal seeking safety. In an instant, my fear turned to pity. I found myself standing between the gator and the crowd, urging the officers who arrived not to harm it but to help it.
It took nearly an hour, but animal control managed to sedate the alligator and load it onto a truck. Later that evening, they called me with news that shook me even more: the animal wasn’t wild at all. It had escaped from an unregistered private facility just two miles away, a place that had reportedly lost other exotic creatures before. As I stared out my window that night at the empty parking lot where it had hidden, one thought wouldn’t leave my mind — what else was being kept in cages so close to home, and what might happen if the next escapee didn’t crawl under my car, but straight to my front door?