A few years ago I came home from shopping and went through to our en suite to do what we all do then the telephone rang and I went through to answer it. Nothing exceptional in this, you say, so why are you boring me with it?
Well, I spoke for a long time and somewhere during my conversation I heard an almighty BANG from the en suite. Frowning, I went through to the other room but could see nothing amiss – no intruder, no ghost, nothing untoward.
Shortly thereafter my husband came home. As usual, he kissed me, went through to shower. Imagine my surprise when he came out, white-faced, saying, ‘There’s a snake in the shower.’
I hung up and followed him through. Sure enough, there was a long, exceptionally thin, green-black snake lying in the cubicle. The sound I had heard was a heavy shampoo bottle falling from the shelf to the floor, which had injured the snake, and made it not only extremely angry but also caused considerable injury as well. That was evident from the blood in the cubicle and the unnatural kink halfway down the snake’s spine.
We figured out the intruder must have climbed up the bougainvillea outside our window, entered through a broken screen, found himself in the bathroom and then when I came in he tried to escape into the shower, slithering up onto the shelf and knocking down the shampoo bottle, thus causing his injury.
But what to do?
There was no way either of us was going to risk removing the snake from the shower – and we couldn’t go to sleep with the creature still there. So we called various wildlife bodies, who in turn gave us the names of a few snake catchers, and then we waited – and waited.
With the sun sinking lower and lower and darkness creeping in, we made yet another call to the snake catcher. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to make it until much later.’
We looked at each other. How were we to relax knowing there was a snake in the bathroom? What if it got out of the cubicle and into the rest of the house?
We researched what type of snake it could be. A green tree snake, which meant: harmless.
‘I’m going to lasso it,’ said my husband.
My mouth dropped open. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Yes, I am.’ And so he fetched a long hollow swimming pool pole, threaded a even longer cord through it, formed a noose at the end and tried to lasso the offender. If you’ve ever tried to lasso a snake before, let me tell you, it’s not easy and also not fun. Not for the snake and not for you. The snake didn’t like it and tried every which way to escape, but eventually Ron had the noose on its ‘neck’, lifted it, still struggling, and carried it outside, with me bravely opening doors for him along the way.
‘Where are you going to release it?’ I asked him as he reached the verandah.
‘Down there.’ He pointed with his head to the bottom of our big garden.
And so I followed him, a tiny procession of wriggling snake, long pole, wary husband and nervous me, until we reached the area of bushland that adjoins our property. There, with great care, Ron loosened the noose and set the snake free and we watched as it slid into the undergrowth.
I must confess I said a silent prayer to St Francis to take care of it, for up close it was obvious its injury was significant and although we had set it free I had no confidence it would survive.
What’s the point to this story, you ask?
Well, there is a sequel, if you can bear with me.
Yesterday evening, as we sat out on our deck admiring the birds and the trees, I noticed a long thin shape at our pool. He was lying quite still with his head slightly raised. We moved closer for a better look. That green-black colour looked familiar, as did the yellow underside and the large dark eye, but it was the distinct kink in the back, long since healed, that clinched it.
Our snake was back.
And as long as he stays outside, we’re happy to have him.
Kathy Stewart's Blog 