Meet Waffles

The Black Throated Monitor

Waffles is a Black-Throated Monitor who has fully committed to his life’s calling: professional sleeper. If competitive napping were an Olympic sport, he’d bring home the gold, the silver, the bronze, and probably the mattress sponsorship. This man can fall asleep in positions that defy science, logic, and several chiropractic principles. Upside down? Curled like a croissant? Sideways between his hide and the glass? All normal. All intentional. All Waffles.

But here’s the catch: Waffles is NOT a morning lizard. Do not—under any circumstances—attempt to wake him up before he has personally decided that the sun, the universe, and his internal lizard soul are aligned. If you try, you will be met with the unholy duo of the Whip of Doom™ and the Hiss of Betrayal. To be fair, he doesn’t mean it. He’s just dramatically offended that consciousness has been thrust upon him without consent.

Once awake, though? The man smells… delightful. His musk literally smells like syrup. Not metaphorically. Not “sort of sweet.” No—Waffles smells like someone spilled breakfast on a dinosaur. It’s uncanny, mildly confusing, and weirdly charming.

Despite being big, strong, and fully grown, Waffles is emotionally a baby. A large baby. A heavy baby. A baby who would absolutely prefer to be cradled like an infant rather than held like a lizard. Chest snuggles? Yes. Being rocked slightly? Also yes. Any attempt to treat him like the giant monitor he technically is? Absolutely not. He will be swaddled and adored, thank you.

And then there’s his sun addiction. If Waffles could legally marry the sun, he would. The man will spend every possible second basking, charging, and absorbing solar energy like he’s trying to photosynthesize out of spite. Taking him outside for walks is pure joy—his happy place. But the second you try to bring him back in? Immediate tantrum. Full-body protest. Hissy meltdown. Theatrics that would make a stage actor kneel.