Once upon a summertime about ten years ago, my younger brother was home from college between semesters and his debris wouldn't all fit into Mom's New Sewing Room. The most notable piece of "debris" was the fishtank that contained his two snakes, Al and Wench. (yes, intentional pun) -- The fishtank was placed under the kitchen table, next to the bowls of cat food.

The cats, Zeke and Jane, would sit and watch Snake Tee Vee while eating their crummy buttons. Snake didn't bother cats, cats didn't bother snake. All was well. Twice a week, my brother went to the pet store and bought live mice for the snakes. The cats would sometimes watch the snakes consume the mice. Both of the cats were pretty good ratters, so I guess they were picking up some tips or something.

Father's Day rolled around and my mom got my dad one of those remote control vehicles. (I think it was a truck, if I recall). So then Dad could play with the cats without actually getting out of his chair and getting some exercise, by tying the string to the little truck. One of his truck tricks was being able to drive it into a paper bag until the bag sat up. He could drive it back out again, too.

The cats were never quite a hundred percent comfortable with the little truck, but they did chase the string.

Sometime in early July, my brother went to the pet store for the Snake Mice. Dad had just driven the truck into its bag. Mom fed the cats. Brother returned, and dumped the mice into the tank for the snakes. Brother stayed in the kitchen, kneeling next to the tank, and watched the snakes. Meanwhile, Zeke and Jane wandered in and before they ate, THEY watched the snakes.

Then many things happened. Within the space of about four seconds, one of the snakes pounced on a mouse. Dad ran the truck out of the bag and into the kitchen -- and Zeke and Jane both ran over my brother.

When I say 'ran over', I mean literally RAN OVER. They climbed him. They put cat claw holes up his thighs, his abdomen, one of his shoulders, and I think Jane even nailed the side of my brother's head. Brother finally managed to get up and stomp out to the living room and yell at Dad, which was basically ineffective because Dad was ROTFLHAO.

After that, snake feeding time and cat feeding time were spaced far apart -- and to this day, my brother points at all of the little white dots across his legs and stomach and tells this story.

Copyright © Brin-Marie McLaughlin
February 11, 1999

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