There was hooting. There was shouting.
And, I ignored it.
I was in my happy place.
Snuggled on the couch with a cat watching NCIS on Netflix.
That didn’t last.
“Mom. Mom! There’s a snake on the car!”
“A snake. On the car.”
I popped my head over the balcony.
There was a snake.
A big snake.
Not anaconda big.
But bigger than I wanted it to be.
I live in the damn suburbs.
Practically in the city center.
Why is there a snake on my car?
I was not going to be deterred, neither did I wish to see it killed by the very freaked out people in the street.
I got this.
I grabbed the braai tongs and stalked out to care of business.
Aunty Pam, who worked at the snake park, made it look really easy.
Turns out, picking up a snake with some tongs is not easy at all.
Snakes are very wiggly.
My children watched with fascination from the safety of the balcony.
Anyway, I coaxed it in the direction of the storm drain.
A very irritated owl huffed at me from the light pole and flew off.
I think I ruined his dinner.
People keep asking me what kind of snake it was.
It was a SNAKE people! Who cares!
I assumed, based on a recent neighbourhood Facebook post, that it was the non-venomous type. Probably just a brown house snake.
Some research proved me wrong. Turns out it was probably a stiletto snake. At least, this is the picture it most closely resembled. And stiletto snakes are very bad news. I’m somewhat glad I didn’t know this when I was channeling my inner Steve Irwin.
Not very awe inspiring in snake fetish circles, but plenty of excitement in mine.
My son said, “That is the most kickass thing I have ever seen you do.”
I don’t want to admit that I’m too scared to drive the car, in case it went back into the engine bay.
In the meantime…
I’m a kickass, snake wrangling mom.
Beat that soccer moms.