I came home from afternoon tea with a friend to find an unpleasant surprise. I was locked out of the front door (not the unpleasant surprise) and entered through the garage. I was met by Shadow, who acted delighted to see me and did her typical rolling around on the floor. Behind her on the floor I saw a snake. It was just a baby, not much more than a foot long, probably a garter snake. Feline teeth marks in its body told how it met it's end. Now, I grew up in the country, and I know how to shovel a snake to death and dispose of the carcass; but said carcass on my living room carpet just creeped me out beyond reason. Maybe I got it from Granny who has always freaked out at the sight of snakes, and I recall a cousin who got unduly excited by the mere sight of a sloughed snake skin.
I tiptoed gingerly around the house and headed for the porch armed with telephone and laptop. I called Mother, who commiserated with me about the dilemna and the absence of a strong, fearless husband to resolve it. j. got home sooner than anticipated and speedily banished the snake, and I was able to return indoors where I rewarded the kitties with a treat for defending the home.
As we left the house to get some dinner, I noticed the landing in front of the front door. Clearly, this was the scene of the fray. Blood was smeared all over. j. told me that the door had blown open earlier and postulated that the snake could have gotten in then. I have been mopping the floor on hands and knees using a sponge, but this is reason enough to finally purchase a real mop.
But does the water love us back
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