I grew up with a pet iguana named Willy. We had a very

Kate McKinnon once spoke with wry humor and quiet wisdom: “I grew up with a pet iguana named Willy. We had a very contentious relationship. It turns out that iguanas are not meant to live in suburban homes.” At first her words bring a smile, as if she were merely recalling a quirky memory of childhood. But beneath the laughter lies an ancient lesson: that not all creatures are meant to be bent into the shape of our lives, and that to love truly is to honor the nature of the other.

The iguana, born of sun and jungle, carved by the laws of heat and wild rivers, cannot easily be tamed by human walls. In the suburban home, where the air is cool and the space is small, its instincts are denied, its freedom constrained. Thus the “contentious relationship” McKinnon recalls is not simply between a girl and her pet, but between human desire and nature’s truth. We often want the strange, the exotic, the different—but what we want is not always what is right, either for us or for the creature we bind to our will.

The ancients knew this conflict. Romans once filled their villas with wild animals—lions, leopards, monkeys, even crocodiles—thinking themselves masters of nature. Yet their menageries were short-lived, for these creatures, torn from their natural realms, often sickened and died. In Egypt, cats thrived in temples because they belonged there, woven into the rhythm of the land. But when beasts were uprooted for vanity’s sake, both man and animal suffered. The wisdom is clear: respect the design of creation, or contend endlessly against it.

History gives us many tales of this folly. In the courts of Europe, nobles sought to keep strange creatures—tigers in cages, parrots in cold climates, apes dressed as courtiers. These animals rarely thrived, and their owners rarely found true companionship in them. The bond was fragile because it was unnatural. By contrast, shepherds and their dogs, farmers and their oxen, falconers and their hawks, built relationships that endured for centuries, for they were grounded in harmony with each animal’s nature. McKinnon’s memory of Willy, the restless iguana, stands as a modern echo of this truth.

The meaning of her words is not only about pets, but about relationships and life itself. Many of our conflicts arise because we try to force others into roles they were never meant to play. The friend, the partner, the child, even the self—we sometimes demand they fit into narrow suburban homes of expectation, rather than honoring the wildness of their true design. The “contentious relationship” is the inevitable result of denying nature.

The lesson is luminous: love requires understanding. If you invite another into your life—whether beast or human—do not ask them to become what they are not. Learn their needs, honor their instincts, and create space for them to thrive. A lizard cannot be a dog, just as a wild soul cannot be chained to a quiet life without conflict. Harmony is not achieved by force, but by respect.

Practical action flows from this wisdom. Before you bring a pet into your home, ask: Can I give this creature what it truly needs, or am I only seeking novelty? Before you demand conformity from others, ask: Am I honoring their nature, or am I denying it? Seek alignment, not domination; seek respect, not control. For when each being is allowed to live according to its truth, contention fades and companionship flourishes.

Thus Kate McKinnon’s humorous memory becomes an enduring teaching: The world is filled with many creatures, but not all are meant to live in our houses or our lives as we imagine. To force them is folly; to respect them is wisdom. Let us therefore walk humbly with the beings around us—be they human or animal—honoring the nature they were given, and finding peace not in reshaping them, but in reshaping ourselves to love them as they truly are.