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Jul. 24th, 2004 11:45 amLast night, when I got home, I got to employ deductive reasoning. I've recreated the facts for you here, so that you can share in the sinking sensation of discovery.
My living room has a relatively uneven wooden floor. There is a large throw rug on part of the floor.
Since I have cats, the throw rug is frequently rumpled and not flat on the floor.
Last night, when I got home, there was a small lump under the throw rug, which was not unusual.
However, my two cats were expressing an indecent amount of interest in the small lump. That was unusual.
The brief flash of tail that I saw poking out from the edge of the rug was distinctly reptilian... not rodential... in nature.
Ah. There was a snake under the throw rug in my living room. Hurray for deductive reasoning.
(Especially for Not-Our-Real: The snake does not die in this story.)
I have two college degrees and a phi beta kappa key. If the world operated according to any sensible scheme, I would be able to test out of this sort of thing. I'd have an exemption. I could, perhaps, come home to a snake in my living room, but the snake would see it was me, go "Oh, hell, sorry. I thought you were someone else." and leave quietly. Since that didn't happen, it's obvious that the world does not operate according to a sensible scheme.
I also discovered, rather to my chagrin, that a snake in my living room posed a convincing argument in favor of matrimony. I thought to myself "You know, if I were married, I could just stand on the chair and whimper while my husband took care of the problem." But no. I live alone. I want to be independant and all... and one of the unfortunate aspects of being independant is that one must solve one's own snake-in-the-living-room problems.
I took a five gallon bucket and put it upside down over the lump. I put a couple of bricks on top of the bucket to trap the snake so that I could contemplate it without having it escape and zip around my house for an evening of Alien-style drama. (That was not the sort of quiet Friday night at home that I had originally intended to have.) That accomplished, I fixed dinner and ate it. I cranked up the internet for advice on dealing with my problem. The internet, a sprawling landscape of information, contains an FAQ about sexual interactions between humans and geese (do not ask me how I know this), so I figured it would probably have something useful on removing snakes from houses. However, the internet was singularly unhelpful about what to do regarding the snake in my living room. It pains me to think that more people are interested in sex with geese than are interested in how to remove a snake from one's living room.
To remove a (relatively small) snake from under your living room throw rug:
Flip the rug back
Quickly trap the snake under a glass (so you can see through it) bowl
Slide a piece of cardboard under the glass bowl, trapping the snake between cardboard and bowl
Carry the whole shebang outside and let the snake go, accompanied (if desired) by a chorus of Born Free.
Did this really happen? Hell yes. I'm running a nonfiction blog, here. See proof:
My living room has a relatively uneven wooden floor. There is a large throw rug on part of the floor.
Since I have cats, the throw rug is frequently rumpled and not flat on the floor.
Last night, when I got home, there was a small lump under the throw rug, which was not unusual.
However, my two cats were expressing an indecent amount of interest in the small lump. That was unusual.
The brief flash of tail that I saw poking out from the edge of the rug was distinctly reptilian... not rodential... in nature.
Ah. There was a snake under the throw rug in my living room. Hurray for deductive reasoning.
(Especially for Not-Our-Real: The snake does not die in this story.)
I have two college degrees and a phi beta kappa key. If the world operated according to any sensible scheme, I would be able to test out of this sort of thing. I'd have an exemption. I could, perhaps, come home to a snake in my living room, but the snake would see it was me, go "Oh, hell, sorry. I thought you were someone else." and leave quietly. Since that didn't happen, it's obvious that the world does not operate according to a sensible scheme.
I also discovered, rather to my chagrin, that a snake in my living room posed a convincing argument in favor of matrimony. I thought to myself "You know, if I were married, I could just stand on the chair and whimper while my husband took care of the problem." But no. I live alone. I want to be independant and all... and one of the unfortunate aspects of being independant is that one must solve one's own snake-in-the-living-room problems.
I took a five gallon bucket and put it upside down over the lump. I put a couple of bricks on top of the bucket to trap the snake so that I could contemplate it without having it escape and zip around my house for an evening of Alien-style drama. (That was not the sort of quiet Friday night at home that I had originally intended to have.) That accomplished, I fixed dinner and ate it. I cranked up the internet for advice on dealing with my problem. The internet, a sprawling landscape of information, contains an FAQ about sexual interactions between humans and geese (do not ask me how I know this), so I figured it would probably have something useful on removing snakes from houses. However, the internet was singularly unhelpful about what to do regarding the snake in my living room. It pains me to think that more people are interested in sex with geese than are interested in how to remove a snake from one's living room.
To remove a (relatively small) snake from under your living room throw rug:
Flip the rug back
Quickly trap the snake under a glass (so you can see through it) bowl
Slide a piece of cardboard under the glass bowl, trapping the snake between cardboard and bowl
Carry the whole shebang outside and let the snake go, accompanied (if desired) by a chorus of Born Free.
Did this really happen? Hell yes. I'm running a nonfiction blog, here. See proof:
