Last Friday the husband and I went to see Jungle Book. It’s nicely done, I recommend it! After returning home, he proceeded to clean the kitchen while I took the dogs out for a potty break. I heard him shriek and rushed back in.
He opened a drawer to put the meat thermometer away, did so, and then closed the drawer. And then his brain went “… huh?” so he opened the drawer again. Only to find this:
Neither of us hates snakes, fortunately, so after the shock/surprise we handled it with compassion and grace. He took the picture while I escorted it gently outside.
We did spend the rest of the weekend repeatedly checking all the kitchen drawers and cabinets, though.
My wife and I don’t particularly hate snakes either, but if I saw that in one of my kitchen drawers, I’d poop my pants while my wife burned the house down.
Wow! Do you know what kind of snake it was? (ETA: I see that’s been answered.)
This reminds me of the time I arrived at work to find the entire office staff (well, it was a small office, so that was about 4 people) standing around in terror because the receptionist reported seeing a snake. They called the landlord, whose representative was unable to find the critter. Later that day, the receptionist shrieked because she saw it again. It slithered away behind a stack of file folders. I pushed the folders aside, and there it was: a garter snake, diameter about half the size of a pencil. I got a plastic bag, gently scooped it up, and released it into the woods behind the office. Everyone was extremely grateful. You would have thought I had subdued a giant python.
Damn. That’s a big snake to find in your kitchen. How long was it? Looks like just a black snake, nothing dangerous, but damn. Might want to check your door seals.
There may no mice, but the drawer appears to be one snake over the limit.
Forced to choose, I’d rather find a mouse in the drawer than a big ol’ snake like that. The presence of either one will require sanitizing the drawer and everything in it, but at least the mouse won’t make me shit my pants.
It’s the startle factor, is what it is. Let me tell you the story of my centipede buddy, though I do hate centipedes greatly.
We had stayed up until around 3:30 am one Saturday night a couple of years back to play Borderlands. We awoke the next morning at 10, and immediately resumed playing*. Around 11 am I shuffled off into the kitchen to get a snack. Apparently I had spilled a drop of creamer when I had made the coffee earlier for there was a giant honking centipede, sitting in the creamer, or drinking it, who knows what the little minions of Satan do? SIX INCHES FROM MY HAND.
I pride myself on being a calm dispatcher of bugs. Not this time. I dropped the knife I was using to cut my fruit. In my head I was calmly yelling “There’s a bug, come get it.”
In the other room I heard my SO’s controller hit the table and heard him shout “What’s in there?” He says he couldn’t understand anything I was saying, but when he got in there, at least I pointed.
If I had come upon the bug gradually that’d be one thing. But being startled like that? DO NOT LIKE.
*It is so nice when you and your other half share interests!
Hey, I can’t help it if my wife’s quicker on her feet. She’d have the counters soaked in gasoline before the stink left my underpants. Those are superhero reflexes.
