This summer I've received a considerable number of e-mails – most of them containing palpable notes of hysteria – asking how to eradicate geckos from the premises. One even referred to them as "geicos." Too much television.

I guess my tiresome tirade about the squirrels and their ruination of my tulip beds led readers to believe I am an expert at pest control. Which I am not.

Besides, I like geckos. They eat bugs. I welcome them not only to my property but also into my house. I do not open wide the front door and bow from the waist, gesturing like a butler. But when I surprise one skittering across the kitchen floor by turning on a light, I'm not a bit dismayed. I figure they're controlling the roaches, spiders and flour moths that live in a house where no toxic pesticides are used. Maybe the one in my clothes closet is feasting on the larvae that eat holes in my woolens.

Two nonnative species (Hemidactylus turcicus and H. fernatus ) have adapted well to Dallas. Nocturnal, they are active spring through fall. When cold weather arrives, geckos find a sheltered spot to wait out the winter. In my yard, they burrow under thick layers of leaves in disused clay flowerpots or wriggle into the fibers of sphagnum moss lining window boxes, becoming leaping lizards that scare the life out of me when I start tidying up the garden for spring.

Generally the creatures are creamy gray, but their color changes according to temperature. H. turcicus is covered with tiny tuburcles, or bumps; H. fernatus is smooth-skinned. Their skin is so transparent you can see blood coursing through their veins when they cling to the kitchen windowpanes with their suction-cup feet.

The suction cups are what make geckos entertaining. They are attracted to lighted windows at night, just like moths, their prey. I've never seen a tongue unfurl to slurp up a moth, but maybe geckos are too quick for my eyes. They creep across the glass, reminding me of the childhood game red light, green light, where players make their moves while the person who is "It" has his back turned.

The gecko lunges for the fluttering moth. Sometimes it misses; sometimes it catches a wing, which is the same as a miss.

I'm wasting my breath telling readers to tolerate, not eradicate, the harmless lizards. Even the reader who supposed they had some benefit still wanted them gone, just via an organic remedy.

Geckos are afraid of humans and scurry in the opposite direction if they encounter one of us. I think they classify us in the same category as cats, only bigger.

Supposedly they get no larger than 4 inches. But around my house they rarely live that long, thanks to the cats that hang out in my driveway like youths flouting curfew. I once trapped a large gecko in cupped hands, intending to transfer it outdoors. It bit the fleshy part of a finger and held on, like a snapping turtle. There was no prying it loose.

Its jaws did not break the skin, but it sure did pinch.

At citybugs.tamu.edu, Dr. Mike Merchant advises homeowners to seal all cracks and crevices in siding, rooflines and soffits. Small openings not only allow geckos to come inside the house, but they provide secretive shelter, where they mate, during the day.

It also might help to turn off outdoor lights during the summer, if you're that frightened of the tiny lizards.

But I'm not going to suggest methods for trapping them, killing them or poisoning them. I like having them on night patrol.