Saving Mr Snake


Illustration courtesy of Jenny Lamont

In which DD is rather relieved to have The Dad at hand and realises that snakes are not her most favourite of animals.

I often fantasise about heading off on holiday but then the fact that I can’t bear to leave my fur kids gets the better of me and I stop. I also think The Twins (aka Arty and brother Lewie) would run riot if I wasn’t here. Why, you may ask? Well, take last night’s shenanigans for instance… So, it was just on Kitty Curfew time and, with the boys (human) comfortably watching telly, Arty and I went out into the back garden to find his brother Lewie. 

Arty spotted him immediately and bounded off happily to join him in the far and very dark corner where he was clearly harassing something underneath the bench. I gingerly followed and, despite some serious misgivings, got down on my hands and knees to fish the both of them out. As I was about to stick my hand under there, I decided maybe I should rather call The Dad instead... Less than happy to be pulled away from the telly, he came outside… barefoot, in his sleep shorts and t-shirt, armed with his “I-can-see-Pluto-with-this”-torch; he bent down to investigate.

What should greet his wary eyes but A SNAKE! The Twins were poking and batting at it, very intrigued by this not-so-small, brown house snake. Needless to say, this induced MPM (Mommy Panic Mode) – mind, The Dad was doing a good impression of Daddy-panic too – and an instant hot flush out of sheer fear!

Much to their great disappointment, Aaron and I managed to haul The Twins’ very reluctant little kitty butts out from under the bench and lock them in the cottage. Neither of us was keen to go back outside but The Dad was shouting in a surprisingly high-pitched voice for a bag… and the tongs… and to open the front door! Aaron and I followed the instructions at top speed, and then headed back to James, who was hopping about armed with a dustpan and one very frightened and crazy-wriggly snake who was trying his best to get away. 

With Aaron and I shouting the odds (from a safe distance, of course), James managed to bag the snake. Our hero! He then very kindly took it for a quick walk up the road (hoping that none of the neighbours would mistake him for a barefoot bergie) and set it free in the forest. Poor Mr Snake, but – eep! – such excitement pre-bedtime; thank goodness James was here! Even though I lived with snakes in my heyday (they belonged to my boyfriend at the time), I really don’t do snakes. Luckily the kitties weren’t bitten and house snakes are harmless; nevertheless, I’d prefer not to share our teeny tiny back garden with them or, worse, have one of The Twins bring one to bed with them. Argggghhhh!