A Snake Ate My Mice On My Birthday

I’m telling you this upfront because I’ve got your attention now.

The worst thing about this is not that I can’t even remember which mice got eaten—I had several pairs of mice during that year and they did a pretty good job of killing each other off even without the snake. Was it Harriet and Molly? Bella and what-was-the-other-one’s-name? Fuck if I know.

The worst thing about this was not the horror of finding an unauthorized snake in my house.

I walked into my room to find my cat Dory (I can remember her name) staring intently at the mice’s cage, which sat on a high wall shelf. Well, staring more intently than usual, she being a cat and the nameless mice being what they were.

And as I turned my gaze to join hers, a tongue flickered out from between the bars of the cage.

Mice are not known for their tongue-flickering, so I knew something was amiss.

And as I stood on tiptoe to peer into their habitat, the snake’s head poked shyly out from the shredded newspaper bedding.

I screamed, and the snake disappeared back under the shreds.

The worst thing about this was not the knowledge that the only thing keeping the snake stuck in the cage were two mouse-sized lumps.

I knew that I’d have to get the snake out of the cage somehow, unless I waited for nature to take its course and the snake was thin enough to slither out again. That wasn’t a valid option.

The worst thing about this was not gingerly carrying the mouse cage through the house and onto the front porch, Dory following me.

She was very much invested in where this was going.

I put the cage down, removed the top, and set it aside.

The snake still hid.

I grabbed the broom and prodded the base of the cage.

The snake shot up from the newspaper like a cobra in a basket, and suddenly, I was filled with rage.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” I yelled, slapshotting the cage off the porch.

Snake, cage, and newspaper all sailed in a graceful arch into the yard.

The worst thing about this was not the reality that the snake was only doing what it must to survive, and that killing it would not bring back my mice.

The worst thing about this was not even the mystery of how the hell the snake got into my house to begin with, let alone get up the wall to eat my mice.

The worst thing about this was not even the fact that it was my birthday.

No.

The absolute worst thing about this whole ordeal,

The thing that makes me feel like a terrible person,

Is that I know

Deep down inside

That this story is fucking hilarious.