Friday, June 12, 2009

Serves Me Right For Being So Obviously Edible...


It appears my offline status has been set to PREY.


Twice this week, I’ve been attacked by wild carnivorous beasts. Okay — make that once (genuinely), and change the other to a nearly. And remove wild from the description of the first, noting also that, in using the word ‘beast’, I’m exaggerating slightly. And think carnivorous only in the technical sense. It’s sapping the narrative, I know, but can you still taste the fear???!!!


Let me fill you in.


My neighbours have gone away. It’s not that they don’t like me (though this may be true, nonetheless), but as it’s holiday time and all, they’ve headed off to Falmouth for a week of playing hide ‘n’ seek with the sun.


The note they left me reads: FEED THE CAT.


Any other cat, I would gladly feed. Any other cat would, in fact, require feeding. But Kashka is a demon queen masquerading as a fluffball and, I suspect, the reason why so many people in the street have been stripped of half their flesh. When I feed cats, I normally make use of those handy tins of Special Food for Cats — not great big chunks of myself.


So, mauled and mutilated (yes, that was Carnivorous Beast Attack #1. What do you want? That my head was ripped off or my intestines shredded into streamers?), I took myself off to the stretch of woods where Maurice lives, to feast on the sight of multiple leaping bunnies gay. And there, coiled up in the grass like a big old cliché, was a snake. Now, the thing about English snakes (apart from their stiff upper lips and impeccable table manners) is that you never, ever, see them — and if you do, they’re so weeny as to constitute fashion-conscious worms. But this one was as thick as a courgette and long enough to slither its way up my trouser leg and bite me on the bum with its tail flapping about my ankles.


Not the most ideal wildlife to encounter when you’re relieving yourself behind a tree, I have to tell you.


15 comments:

fairyhedgehog said...

Oh dear, Whirl. Eaten and bitten. I hope you're fully recovered now.

Aerin said...

The /only/ biological advantage men have: being able to pee standing up.

Based on the post title, I had visions of cute, short little Kiersten chasing you with a knife and fork held in her hands, bib tied 'round her neck...

Kiersten said...

I'd never quite imagined snakes as having any lips to be stiff, but your British variety sound perfectly charming. I'll bet their hisses have accents that drive American snakes wild, too.

Natalie said...

Do British snakes ask politely before they bite you? Or do they stick a fang in your leg and apologize politely after that they have bitten you?

Kiersten said...

Oh goodness, Aerin. Don't be ridiculous. I always tase my victims first--I do so hate to run.

Whirlochre said...

There's nothing like a snake post to hot things up among the girls...

Robin S. said...

...the thing about English snakes (apart from their stiff upper lips and impeccable table manners) is that you never, ever, see them — and if you do, they’re so weeny as to constitute fashion-conscious worms.

This is vintage Whirl - and thus, an instant classic. I'm beginning to think (no joke here) that you should write a book of personal observations - kind of a non-Bryson walk in the woods thing.

And were you actually bitten by a snake? Seriously? Ouchhhh.

Whirlochre said...

I can't help thinking travel writing would be such fun, particularly as the furthest from England I've ever been is Majorca...

Robin S. said...

Hey, Whirl - not travel-writing as much as 'travel' writing, or observation writing. Build a world around Maurice and ole' One Arm and the store with the mempory loss visitor, and the snake on the ass when weeing...

Whirlochre said...

Fantasies will be weaved.

As for poor old Jack, we had the police round last Saturday asking if we'd seen him. Appears he's gone missing. Rude at present to dig round for news and the neighbours are away, but I'll keep you posted....

Scarlet-Blue said...

Well, I've seen a big snake in my garden. He was later arrested.
Sx

moonrat said...

rough day, man.

Mary said...

This post heaved my mind back to long forgotten memories of youthful summers past. When, with childlike glee, my brother and three thuggish friends hunted grass snakes for profit. Did they sell them to a pet shop or an evil eagle-keeper? That I do not know.

Whirlochre said...

I love the idea of the evil eagle-keeper — even if it's true.

ril said...

Hmm. You nipped behind a tree to relieve yourself, and thereupon caught sight of a snake, thick as a courgette, coiled tightly, in the vicinity of your nether regions.

In your dreams, pal.