There’s a very large Black Rat Snake living in my garage. When I first discovered him, I had opened my car door ready to hop out only to find him right there staring up at me with those unblinking eyes. I had almost stepped on him!—and it about scared the light out of me.
But we’ve come to an understanding, the snake and I. You see, he favors my garage, molts, hangs out—literally, and is welcome to come and go as he pleases. I won’t try to kill him or ask him to get lost. In exchange, he keeps the rodents away…and very well, I might add.
Yes, it’s a nice arrangement, my garage his den, for everything works together for good. I’d rather have a rat snake nearby than a rat. I’ve named him Fig, either because his head reminds me of one or that I break into a few bars of “Figaro” whenever I see him. I can’t decide if he likes it or puts up with it. But we have an agreement, you see. My snake and the snake’s crazy human.
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro! ~ ~ ~ Figaro qua, Figaro là, Figaro su, Figaro giù...