Snake In, Snake Out
In late August the Oklahoma heat can be stifling, and such was the
case on that fateful Saturday in the summer of 2003. Squirt, who on hot
days rarely stirs from her sleeping spot in the middle of the bed, and
Amber were the only cats inside. Amber lay in the hallway by the front
door, not to far from one of two air-conditioning vents in the living
floor.
I was doing light chores but every time I passed by the
bed, I toyed with the thought of joining Squirt for a nap. I promised
myself if I completed a few more tasks, I would give in to temptation. I
went back to the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes.
Several
moments later I heard the squeaking of the hanging flap over the cat’s
door in the bedroom window as someone came in from the heat. By the
sound of the heavy thud that followed I knew it was Big Bob. Thinking
he’d probably like a drink of fresh, cold water I returned to the
bedroom, and started toward the bathroom where I have an extra bowl of
water set out. I found Bob lying in the floor next to a pile laundry I’d
separated earlier that day, planning to wash in the evening hours after
it had cooled down. He was laying with his front legs splayed wide apart
and with his chest purposefully pressed down on the floor. From past
experience, I knew he was laying on something, holding it captive
beneath his body while he cooled off. Warily, I asked, “What have you
got this time, another lizard?” At that moment, the pile of laundry next
to him sifted a bit, I cautiously took one step back, “Booooooooooob?”
Bob stood up and the three and a
half foot, neon green, pencil-thin garden snake, whose body had been
partially hidden under Bob and the pile of laundry sped off under the
desk in the bedroom while I ran screeching into the kitchen. Bob thought
it wise to run back out the window, followed by his, now wide awake and
terrified, Mother.
Meanwhile, I’m having a coronary. I glanced
around the kitchen, looking for something to use against the snake,
which was rapidly making it’s way into the kitchen. That was all she
wrote.... I ran into the living room screeching...”Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
Amber, who had undoubtedly been woken from her nap by my first
shriek, and who is rarely startled by anything that goes on in our
house, got up, stretched and looked at me as if to ask, “Have you lost
your mind, or what?”
A faint glimmer of hope rose up out of my
panic and pointing toward the kitchen, I whimpered, “Snake.” Rolling her
eyes as she passed me, as if to say, “Oh for crying out loud,” Amber
trotted across the living room floor, picking up speed as she entered
the kitchen and spied the intruder. Without breaking stride she moved
over to the snake, who was now under the kitchen table, scooped him up
almost exactly in the center of his body, and continued down the hall to
the bedroom. Silently praying, I followed. I entered the bedroom just in
time to see the two ends of the snake disappear out the cat door.
Overwhelmed with relief, I sat on the edge of the bed to try and calm my
frazzled nerves.
Seconds later, I became concerned for Amber’s
safety. What if the snake bit her on the face or something? Out the
front door I went. It took only a moment to find her laying in the
shade, lazily batting at the snake as he tried to escape. Coaxing her to
me, I picked her up and after showering her with tons of kisses, brought
her back inside.
Bob received a good scolding and for the next
week Amber was treated like a queen. I baked a chicken for her and gave
her Chicken of the Sea tuna on a couple of occasions. To this day, I am
eternally grateful that she took pity on me in my crazed state and
turned a desperate situation into a comical tale.
My Amber has
taken very good care of me over the years, and as she ages, I intend to
return the favor tenfold.
