The other day Pookie brought a baby rattler up to the house, mer-owwing, all puffed up and proud of herself. The snake seemed more enraptured than traumatized by the experience.
Pookie, the Pentecostal Snake Handler. I took it away and let it slither home. Poisonous or not, things usually don't end well for Pookie's little playmates.
And a week or so back, a rat snake was after Peepers, our porch dove. Of course, Pookie would love to get at Peepers, but she must be content to taunt the bird through the screen.
Peepers is a bossy critter, thinks she's as big as Duck & me. The most dismissive thing she does is flip you off with her wing.
It doesn't hurt, but you've been told.
If Pookie Cat ever got inside the porch, Peepers would likely march right up and flap the cat with her wing. Terminally bad move.
I consider Peepers my dove muse. She's sitting on my shoulder as I write, crapping down my back. She watches the letters appear on the screen. Must look like endless seeds. Sometimes she flies down and pecks the mouse.
Anyhow, the rat snake was trying to get inside the screened porch after Peepers. It freaked her out. (We didn't know Peepers was a she until the egg-laying commenced.)
I practice a form of Southern Zen Baptist Buddhism. I don't kill anything I'm not gon' eat, though I haven't killed Duck yet. So, my intentions were to dissuade the snake, not dispatch it.
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