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Snake Skin

We live in the middle of the woods, and we see snakes and their skins around our yard and on our porch all the time. Still, I wasn’t prepared for what happened Friday night.

Around 9 p.m., I decided to take a shower and get ready for bed. I keep a plastic stool in our bathroom for shaving my legs. I reached behind the bathtub and grabbed the stool, placed it in the glass-enclosed shower unit, and turned on the water. A moment later, I opened the shower door and stepped underneath the water stream.

I washed my face and body in the first few minutes then grabbed the razor. I propped my right foot onto the stool and started to lather the soap all over my calf and shin. I bent over and touched the razor to my lower leg, and that’s when I saw it.

There, clinging to the side of the stool, was a freshly shed snake skin. Yikes!

I dropped the razor and moved to the opposite side of the shower unit — pressing my body to the tile.

“Gene!” I hollered. “Gene!” A minute later, my husband stormed through the bathroom door.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing my alarm.

“Snake skin! Snake skin!” I yelled. “It’s on the stool. I think a snake may be under the stool — in the cavity under the stool’s seat.”

He flung the shower door open and retrieved the stool and the papery object, then said, “You’re right. That’s definitely a snake skin.”

He flipped it over. No snake. He removed the skin and handed the stool back to me before exiting the bathroom.

I quickly finished my shower, several thoughts zooming through my mind.

First, the stool never leaves the bathroom, so the snake had to have shed his skin in the bathroom behind the tub.

Second, just the day before, our little blind cat had been particularly needy. He kept sprinting into my office as if being chased by a ghost, touching my leg with his foot, and crying a weird “meee-ooow.” He was inconsolable. I ignored him. In retrospect, I believe he was trying to communicate with me. He can’t speak like a human, but he was trying to tell me, “Hey Amber, there’s a situation in the master bathroom that needs your immediate attention. Now!”

Third, our golden retriever, Cali, spends 98 percent of her time in the house with us. How in the world did she not detect a long, slithering reptile living under the same roof with all of us? Some watchdog she is. Fourth, how did a snake get inside our house? As I finished my shower, I formulated a theory. They can slither into the garage pretty easily from the woods. From the garage, they can get to the attic above the garage. From the attic, they can get into the walls. There are two places they can come out of the sheetrock and into the house — both where my husband left holes when he was pulling cables through the house. To summarize, the rogue snake in the house is all my husband’s fault. Gene and I looked for the snake for an hour that night, but we never found him or her. We went to bed. I’m not going to lie and say I got the most restful night’s sleep I’ve ever gotten, but I did get a few Z’s. Around 3 a.m., my husband stretched a leg out to find a cool spot in the sheets and his big toe just happened to rub along my calf causing me to have a heart attack, but other than that, the night was relatively uneventful. We got up on Saturday and attended a memorial service for a neighbor who passed away, but instead of going to the graveside service afterwards, we raced home so I could tear the house apart looking for the continued from page

snake. I looked under the sofa, the washer, the dryer, the beds, and other furniture. I searched between sheets and quilts in closets. I looked in the kitchen cabinets. I peeked inside shoes and boxes. I dumped out the dirty clothes in the hamper and scanned the contents. The snake was nowhere to be found.

As of today, Monday, we still haven’t found the snake, but I’m not delusional. I know that snake is living in the house with all four of us — Gene, me, the dog, and the little blind cat. My only consolation is that it is most likely a nonvenomous rat snake. That’s what I keep telling myself.

Ophidiophobia is an extreme, overwhelming fear of snakes, and that doesn’t describe me. I have a healthy respect for snakes — especially when they are in the great outdoors. I say, “Live and let live.” But the snake crawling around in our house is another matter entirely. I shared the story with a friend this morning, and he patted me on the back and said, “The truth is you may never find it. You guys may just have to live in harmony with it — and its offspring.”

Live out my days with a snake — snakes — loose in the house? Lord help us.

Mrs. Claudia Adams

Mrs. Claudia Hamrick Adams, age 73, of Marietta, died on Friday, April 29, 2022. Mrs. Adams was born in Marietta. She attended Mercer University, receiving her B.A. degree with a major in English in 1970. She was a homemaker. She was preceded in death by her parents, Claude Hamrick, Jr., and Laura Alice Hamrick, and her husband of 46 years, Alfred Harris Adams. She is survived by her daughters, Lanier Adams Ivester and son-in-law, Philip Lloyd Ivester, and Elizabeth Winifred Adams; 1 son, Zachary Harris Adams, daughter-in-law, Irish Galura Adams; grandson, Amihan Harris Adams; her sister, Ellen Cambron; her niece, Laura McCullough ( Justin); and 3 great-nephews, Charlie, Noah, and Ethan.

Funeral services were held on Tuesday, May 3, 2022, at 11:00 a.m., in the Historic Marietta Chapel of Mayes-Ward Dobbins Funeral Home, with Fr. Collin Setterberg officiating. Burial followed at Kennesaw Memorial Park in Marietta.

Charitable donations may be made to Furkids Animal Shelter and Rescue.

Mayes-Ward Dobbins Funeral Home in Marietta was in charge of arrangements.

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