All Before the Morning Cup ‘o Joe

Scary moment of the day:  A snake in my house.

As I’ve mentioned in past entries, Chuck and I are aquatic enthusiasts.  We have two large aquariums, one reef and one fresh water, in our house.  The fresh water tank is, of course, full of aggressive cichlids that thrive on fresh feeder fish and live worms and crickets.  The largest and healthiest eater of the tank is an Oscar that we’ve had for about six months.

Early yesterday morning, while mowing the back yard before the heat of the day set in, Chuck found a small grass snake, about twice the size of a large earthworm, hiding under a rock.  In his infinite wisdom, Chuck thought that it would be a brilliant idea to catch said snake and throw it in the tank, sure that Oscar would eat it.  We watched for about ten minutes as the snake skimmed the top of the water, but Oscar only struck at it once.  The aquarium light had not come on yet, so I think Oscar was still just a bit too sleepy to care about the potential food swimming right above him.

Chuck decided to leave the snake in the tank, hoping that Oscar would wake up after the lights came on and attack.  Keep in mind, the fresh water aquarium is in my office… the one room in the house where I spend the majority of my day.  I was not as amused by this idea.  Chuck headed back outside to finish the yard work, and left me alone in the house to keep a watchful eye on the snake.

A few minutes later, my worst fear was realized.  The little snake had found the water return pipe draped over the top of the tank.  As he coiled his body around the tube on the surface of the water, I knew exactly what was about to happen.  That damn snake was about to be out of the aquarium and roaming freely in my house.  I completely panicked.

Yes, I know that it’s a harmless grass snake.  I know that its tiny, little mouth isn’t big enough to bite me, not that he would even want to.  That does not matter.  It is a snake, and I do not want it in my house, much less my office!  

I raced to the kitchen to grab a cup, a bowl, anything that I could use to knock it back into the water, but trap it underneath in the event it still managed to find its way out.  By the time I returned mere seconds later, the snake was stretched high above the top of the tank, peering at me with those beady eyes and lashing that split tongue at me.  I cringed and squealed and carefully reached toward it with the cup, in an attempt to either knock it or scare it back into the water.  In defense, that little snake did not just strike or lunge at me.  He flew.  He soared right at me, landing about two feet from the aquarium.  I don’t know that I’ve ever moved so quickly or screamed so loud as I tried to back away.

In the span of about 3/4 of a second, I glanced out the window to determine Chuck’s location (which of course was all the way at the far end of our half acre yard), then back at the snake.  He was gone!  I did, what I’m sure was, an amusing little dance around the room, trying to ensure he wasn’t at my feet, then I cowered at the door, almost in tears, trying to figure out where he might’ve gone.  I only looked away for a moment, so he had to still be in my office somewhere!  I silently weighed my options.  I could run to the door, yell for Chuck to come in, and let him handle the situation, or I could stand there like an idiot, wait for Chuck to come in, and let him handle the situation.  Unwilling to abandon my post and let the snake escape into some unknown area of the house, I chose the latter.

It seemed like an eternity, but Chuck finally finished in the yard.  I explained the situation, and Chuck waltzed into my office, poked a little fun at me, and said, "Oh, he’s probably right here under the cat bed.  They like to burrow under rocks."  And there he was.  Chuck picked him up by the tail, held him out towards me, and asked, "You want me to just throw him back in the tank?"

Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?!

To spare my sanity, Chuck threw him back out into the yard.  All of this before my morning cup of coffee?  Needless to say, I looked forward to a long, endless, boring work day.

Cheers,
Felina