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Every mother has this thing inside that makes her want to be a good one.  Some win…some lose…some get rained out.  Well, this is a story about the time I got rained out. 
 

I was a single mother from the time my son was four months old and, like most single mothers, I carried a lot of guilt and tried everything I could think of to make it up to my son.  I bought a truck with a camper and I took him camping and fishing and target practicing (yes, with a gun).  I didn’t want him to miss out on anything just because he didn’t have a father figure living in the house with him.  If I didn’t know how to do it, I got a book from the library or asked a friend or co-worker.  I was determined to be the best mother I could be…to stretch myself out of my comfort zone because I loved my child and wanted the best for him…and this is where things started to go wrong…horribly, horribly wrong.
 

Christmas was coming.  My son was nine years old.  He had only one thing on his Christmas list…a snake.  A live, tongue flicking, slithering snake.  One problem…I’m terrified of snakes.  I tried my damnedest to get him to pick something else, but he wouldn’t be distracted.  He pleaded, he begged, he said he’d settle for only one present under the tree.  All he wanted was a snake.  He’d like a really big one – three or four feet long, but he’d settle for a small one if I’d just please, please, please get him a snake.
 

Well, I did what any self-respecting single mother would do.  I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and went shopping for a snake.  It would be good for me…make me stretch…help me get over my fear of snakes.  Or it would kill me, which was probably the most likely outcome.  But I loved my son, so I shopped. 
 

I went to a dozen pet stores and every snake I saw scared me.  I’d tap on the glass and the snake would strike it from the inside.  The hair would raise up on my arms, I’d squeak and jump back and when I could breathe again, I’d move on to the next aquarium or the next pet shop.  I wanted a tame snake.  I asked every pet store clerk I encountered if they had a really, really lazy snake that didn’t bite and didn’t eat anything live.  I love my son, but I had to draw the line at feeding bunnies or mice or anything cuter than me to a snake.  I almost gave up when one clerk told me all snakes bite.  But I told myself he was just being dramatic and I moved to the next pet shop.
 

Finally, when I’d just about given up, I found the perfect snake at a pet shop that shall remain nameless.  The clerk said it was an Iridescent Earth Snake.  It was a beautiful snake – about three feet long and a little over an inch in diameter with a dark burgundy back and a light cream colored belly.  It was totally docile…never batted an eyelid when I tapped on the glass.  The clerk assured me it was the laziest snake he’d ever seen and the best part…it eats earthworms.  Woooo woooo…I was going to be the best mom in the world!  Oh, and by the way, it was on sale for $25…which probably should have told me something.  But who doesn’t like to get a deal?  All the other snakes I’d seen that size were over $100 and to a single mother, that’s a huge difference.  So by the time I’d purchased the snake, the aquarium, the lid (gotta have a lid), the hot rock, the no-tip bowl, and the bedding, that $25 snake had cost me about $150.  The clerk agreed to hold the snake so I didn’t have to worry about how to hide him from my son.
 

So…here it is, the day before Christmas Eve.  My son has gone to his father’s house for the pre-Christmas celebration and will be home late Christmas Eve night.  I drive to the pet shop, sweating like a whore in church, terrified of driving home alone in a car with a snake, but still determined to be that “Best Mom Ever”. 
 

I enter the pet shop and the same clerk is working.  He recognizes me and waves.  “Hi.  Come for your snake?” 
 

I almost bolted.  All I can do is nod while he fishes the snake out of the aquarium and carries it into the back room to put him in a box.  Now, remember, this snake is easily three foot long…it’s a good size snake.  This guy comes back with a box that’s maybe 10”x10”x8” and holds it out to me.  “Here’s your snake.  I’ve got the other stuff all ready here behind the counter.”
 

All I can do is stare at that itty bitty box.  I’m starting to hyperventilate.  I can’t make myself reach for the box.  I look at the clerk and ask, “That’s an awful small box.  Is he gonna be pissed when he comes out of there?”
 

He laughs.  “Nah.  He likes it in there.”
 

Yeah…I’ll just bet he does.  Now I’m starting to shake.  What the hell was I thinking?  I get a grip on myself, take a few deep breaths, pay the man, and follow him to the car as he carries my equipment (and the snake in the box) to the car.  So far, so good.
 

The drive home is harrowing.  I can hardly focus on the road because I’m staring at the box, worried the snake will pop the folded lid open and get loose in the car.  Then I begin to worry that I’ll get in an accident and be knocked unconscious while the snake slithers free and curls up in my hair.  OhmiGod, what if no one finds me right away and I’m not knocked unconscious, but I can’t move and all I can do is watch that snake crawl across my face!  Made it home that day in record time.  So far, so good.
 

At home, I leave the snake in the car for a few minutes while I go in the house and sit on the couch until the shaking subsides.  Finally, I muster up the courage to go back out and bring the aquarium into the house and set it up.  Then I sit on the couch again because I need the rest by now.  I can stall no longer…it’s time to face my demon…and he’s in the car in a ten inch box…all thirty six inches of him.  I take a deep breath, say a prayer for strength, and off I go.  I’m back in fifteen seconds carrying the box like it was filled with limburger cheese.  Now, this is where the wheels really come off.
 

I set the box in the middle of the family room, on the floor, where I’ve got plenty of room to get away from the snake, should he come out of the box pissed off about having to travel in coach.  You might ask at this point what I was thinking…why not just put the box in the aquarium when I open it?  Oh, silly you.  The blood had stopped flowing to my brain.  The synapses were no longer firing.  I was totally short-circuited by fear and the only thing dragging me forward was the lust for my “good mother” merit badge.
 

I edge away from the box, shaking like an oak leaf in a hurricane, hyperventilating, my head spinning, and I reach waaaaaay out with one finger and flip the lid open.  Then I jump back, dancing in place, flapping my hands up and down in front of me, and whining like a five year old girl that’s just found a tarantula in her porridge.  I’m literally about to run screaming from the house when suddenly a drop of blood seems to reach my brain and I realize I’ve just opened a box in the middle of my family room and a three foot snake is about to emerge…now I will have to catch him…and there’s still a chance he’s going to be madder than a rooster under a bucket.  OhmiGod, I’m too stupid to live!
 

So I wait.
 

But nothing happens…no snake, no hissing, no slithering, no tongue flicking…nothing.  Did the guy really put the snake in the box?  Maybe he just weighed it down and when I go back and claim there wasn’t a snake in the box, he just laughs.  Oh no, I’ve been taken!  So I walk over to the box, fully expecting to see it stuffed with something heavy.  It is…the snake.  He’s not moving.  Oh no, he’s dead.  I’ve had the snake less than an hour and already I’ve killed him!  So I poke him.  He slithers.  I scream.  He jumps.  I jump.  Now I’ve not only pissed him off, I’ve scared him, too.  He’s gonna be real fond of having me around.
 

I wait again.
 

Nothing.  So I screw up my courage and go back to the box.  I look inside and find him still in the same pretzel-like position, staring back at me.  Another deep breath.  (Yes, Isabella, I know I’m breathing a lot and, trust me, it was necessary this time.)  I look him over real good while he waits to see what hair-brained thing I’m going to try next.  I find his head, then I find his tail, then I calculate the spot that’s just about half-way between the two.  That’s where I’m going to grab him.  Because everyone knows the best place to grab a snake is far, far away from his head.  (NOT)  With dreams of my merit badge floating in my head, I slowly reach into the box, take hold of the snake in the middle of his body, and start to pull him out of the box.  Not a problem.  He’s very cooperative and comes out nicely…maybe we’re gonna get along, after all…maybe he doesn’t hold a grudge.
 

Then the damn thing starts to move from both ends, bending back toward me, trying to sniff me out.  EEEK!!!  I look up and realize now that I’ve opened the box a good ten feet away from the aquarium.  What was I thinking!  I bolt for the aquarium, but wind up following this incredible, invisible zigzag path as I jump and squeal, and try to keep the snake from getting his head too close to me, my arm, or my hand.  Thank God, I was alone and there are no pictures!
 

Finally, I’m at the aquarium and my nightmare is almost over…not.  Ever tried to hold a three foot snake in the middle and stuff him down into an aquarium that’s easily a foot shorter than he is?  Not easy.  Suddenly, he won’t bend in the middle.  He’s board straight and both ends are clamped onto the sides of the aquarium and all I can think is, How the hell did that clerk get this damned snake into that ten inch box?
 

Well, I did finally get the snake into the aquarium, got the lid on it, and fell backwards onto my butt panting like I’d just run a thirty mile marathon.  I was gonna get that merit badge…it was mine, baby!  I spent about ten minutes shaking on the couch when I finally decided I needed a beer to calm my nerves.  I didn’t have to work the next day, so it was time to let my hair down and relax…I’d earned it.  So off I went around the corner to my favorite neighborhood bar, where I managed to get rather inebriated.
 

I arrived back at home shortly after last call and I was about three sheets to the wind and feeling cocky.  I walked in and checked on my new acquisition…the snake…and felt damned proud of what I’d accomplished.  Piece of cake.  (Things always look easier with a snoot full.)  So off to bed I went.
 

Sometime during the night, I awoke to the most horrible racket imaginable.  The dogs were barking and snarling at the back door, the cat was yowling somewhere in the house, and the guinea pig sounded like a smoke alarm.  It was incredible waking up to this from a dead, drunk sleep.  I couldn’t get my bearings, but I knew I had to make it stop.  So I dragged myself out of bed, stumbled to the light switch, and emerged from my cave like a growling bear, screaming at everyone to shut up.
 

I found the cat standing at a point in the doorway to the laundry room, puffed up to twice her size, growling and hissing like a tiger.  The guinea pig, who lived in a cage on top of the dryer, was squealing and jumping straight up and down in his cage.  I remember staring at him and wondering if it hurt every time he hit his little head on the top of the cage, which he did with every jump.   I hooked the cat with my foot and forced her to the side of the doorway, yelling for her to shut up.  Then I slammed my hand down on the top of the guinea pig’s cage as I screamed, “You shut up, too!”
 

The cat backed off and just growled quietly low in her throat.  The guinea pig stopped jumping and squealing as he sat panting and shaking in the bottom of his cage.  I’m still in a stupor and can’t figure out what’s happening, but I’m thankful that the worst of the noises had finally stopped.  I make my way to the arcadia door and slide it open a couple of inches as I yell at the dogs to get off the door and shut up.  Finally…it’s quiet.
 

I close my eyes and start back to bed, wondering what the hell their problem was.  Just as my head hits the pillow, the thought crosses my mind.  Jeez, they act like the snake got loose or something. 
 

Oh, Crap!
 

I bolt upright, but I’m afraid to get out of bed.  If the snake is loose, I might step on him in the dark.  So I stand up and walk the length of my waterbed (on the mattress), which is not easy to do when you’ve been drinking.  Then I reach out with one foot and brace myself against the dresser as I reach waaaaaay over and flip on the light.  Just as the light comes on, the cat and the guinea pig start up again.  I search the floor…no snake.  So I head for the laundry room again.  There’s the cat, still standing sentry at the door and the poor guinea pig is about to decapitate himself on the top of the cage.
 

I push the cat out of the way and bang on the guinea pig’s cage again and the silence descends again.  Then I screw up the courage to look behind the washer, which seems to be where everyone else is looking…and there he is.  Curled up in a nice, tight ball behind the washer and staring back at me.  Mr. Snake.
 

I turn to look at the aquarium and see that he’s apparently wrapped himself around the electrical cord to the hot rock and pulled, which then popped the lid up at one corner, thereby perpetrating the great escape.  I judge the distance from the washer to the aquarium to be about twenty five feet…a long way to run with a three foot snake when you’ve been drinking.  But the good news is that the alcohol did make me a bit bolder so it didn’t take as long to find the middle of the snake this time.  No, I didn’t learn the first time.  I never learn when I’m terrified…I just react.  So, yes, I did repeat the error of my ways.  Picked him up in the middle, zig-zagged the twenty five feet while I tried to avoid his head, and spent five minutes trying to stuff a three foot snake into a two foot aquarium.  But I did it.  I’d survived it twice!
 

Christmas Eve came and my boy came home from his dad’s.  The first thing he saw on entering the house was the aquarium and his new pet.  He pounced on it immediately, declaring it was the best present ever and the best snake ever.  My merit badge was as good as in the mail.
 

Now, you might think that was the end of the snake story, but you’d be wrong…terribly, terribly wrong.  Yes, there’s more.  Remember when I said this was the greatest snake ever because he ate earthworms?  Yeah.
 

Well, over the next week, I kept putting earthworms in the cage with the snake, who exhibited absolutely no interest.  I dropped them on his head, I dangled them in front of his eyes, I stroked the side of his face with them.  I even got so desperate that I started swimming them in his water bowl…who knew earthworms can’t swim?  By the end of the week, the entire carton of earthworms had expired and the snake was still hungry.
 

So I called the pet store back.  Got the same clerk.  I explained who I was and was happy to hear he remembered me, but when I explained my dilemma, his response had me frozen in my tracks.  His sage advice was, “Oh, no problem.  Just pry his mouth open and stuff them in.”
 

“Are you freaking kidding me?”  I screamed into the phone.  “I am not sticking my fingers into this snake’s mouth!”
 

His reply?  Priceless.  “Don’t worry.  He won’t bite.  He didn’t bite me when I did it.”
 

Uh-oh.  I’m starting to get the feeling I’ve been had.  I lower my voice, which is starting to get shaky now.  “What do you mean…when you did it?  Are you telling me this snake won’t eat on his own?  Are you saying earthworms aren’t his natural diet?”
 

“I don’t know,” was his reply.  “The boss just said to feed him earthworms.  But he does fine on ‘em.  Just shove ‘em down.”
 

As I tumbled right over the edge of sanity, I managed to squeak out, “You are out of your f$%#ing mind,” and I slammed the phone down.  Now what?
 

I picked up the phone and called another pet store to see if they knew what an Iridescent Earthworm ate.  It was at that point that it initially occurred to me that to have an Iridescent Earthworm who ate earthworms might be considered cannibalism.  Maybe it was just a tad too convenient.  Yeah.
 

I went through three or four pet shops who had never heard of an Iridescent Earthworm before I found one who referred me to a pet shop that was owned by the president of the local Herpetology Society.  So I called him and was relieved when he answered the phone himself.  But my joy quickly turned to panic when I told him what I had and asked if he knew what it was supposed to eat.
 

He chuckled and named the pet shop where I’d purchased the snake, asking if that’s where I’d got it.   My stomach turned over as I replied that I had purchased the snake in that shop.  He chuckled again. 
 

“Ya know,” he began, “I saw the ad in the paper for that thing and I drove over there just to see exactly what it was they had.  It’s actually called an Iridescent Earth Snake, not Earthworm.”
 

That didn’t seem so bad.  “Okay.  No problem.  But do you know what it eats?”
 

“What have you been feeding it?”
 

“Nothing.  They told me to feed it earthworms, but it won’t eat them.  When I called them back, they said to open his mouth and stuff them down.  I can’t.”  This last statement came out in a high-pitched squeak.
 

He roared.  I’d been had…no doubt about it now.  “That snake doesn’t eat earthworms.”
 

“Okay.  What am I supposed to be feeding it?  Mice?  Rabbits? ”  It was surprising at how quickly my tune had changed.  I now found myself hoping I could maybe get off so easily as to just feed it a cute little mouse or maybe a little rabbit.
 

“Nope.”  He then paused…possibly for effect.  “It actually eats other snakes.”
 

“What?”  I hadn’t heard him.  I couldn’t have heard that right.
 

“Other snakes.  It eats other snakes.  You need to buy yourself some small snakes and just throw them in with him.”
 

I could hardly believe my ears.  I couldn’t contend with one snake…now I was expected to buy more…and feed them to this cannibalistic little demon!  I was too stunned to move.  “Are you sure?  Can’t I just feed him a mouse?”  Now I was pleading with him to tell me I could “off” a poor little mouse to feed this monster. 
 

“Don’t think so.  You might try it, but there’s slim chance it’ll work.”
 

“Okay…I can try.  Maybe it will.”  Hope was clutching me by the throat.
 

“But you’ll have to feed him at night.”
 

“What?”
 

“At night.  You’ll have to feed him at night.  That snake’s nocturnal.  He sleeps during the day and feeds at night.”
 

“Of course he is!”  I calmly thanked the man, hung up the phone, and shrieked my lungs out.  It was official…my worst nightmare had come to life.
 

The next day, I was off to the closest pet store, where I asked the clerk for the ugliest little mouse they had.  No such luck.  When you don’t need a mouse, there are always plenty of ugly, scruffy ones plaguing the barn or the grain room or being chased by the neighbor’s cat.  But when you need an ugly mouse, all the pet store has is cute little black and white spotted mice…with smiles on their little mouse faces.
 

So I reluctantly took the ugliest one I could find, carried him home in a box, and put him in the cage with the snake – who promptly buried his head in the bedding and refused to come out and take a look.  Over the next couple of weeks, I tried dozens of times to feed that damn mouse to that stupid snake.  I dropped the mouse on his head…thumped him on the top of the head with the mouse…I even took the mouse swimming in the little water bowl.  At one point, the snake was so irritated with all the shenanigans that he snapped at the mouse and accidentally bit his tail off.  But, alas, even that little morsel he refused to eat.
 

I tried to feed the snake at midnight, at one o’clock in the morning, at two, at three, and even at four.  No go.  I couldn’t leave the mouse in the cage with the snake because while the snake hid, the mouse chewed on the snake.  So I got up all hours of the night and tried over and over.  It was like having a newborn in the house.
 

By now, my son was totally in love with this damn snake and I couldn’t bear to break his heart by taking it back to the store.  About the third week into this nightmare, I’d come to the conclusion that I was going to have to give in and buy another snake.  But before I could actually procure one, I came home from work one night to find the poor snake dead.  It had only been three weeks and I’d been assured snakes could go a month or more between meals without harm.  How had I killed him so quickly?  I later found out that by feeding him earthworms, the original pet store had not provided him with the proper nutrition.  So he was probably already in a weakened state when I brought him home.
 

Well, that’s the snake story…sad but true.  Oh, what happened to the mouse, you ask?  Well, the mouse lived for probably another year or so.  We named him Clinger – my suggestion as the perfect name for a mouse that we couldn’t get rid of.  My son carried the name a little further when he began to make little cotton dresses for the mouse.  I caught him one night loading the little mouse (in a particularly cute pink dress) into a hot wheels car and sailing him across the floor.  Not sure the mouse really enjoyed that ride, but he looked like he was gripping the little steering wheel for all he was worth.
 

Never did get that damn merit badge…but it wasn’t for lack of trying.  That’s my story…and I’m sticking to it.
 

Love,
 

Kayce Lassiter 
 
 

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