The Corn Snake
This photo of the Palinode has nothing to do with the following story.
My phone rang in the middle of a meeting. I saw that it was the Palinode, so I hung up on him, because you can hang up on people who love you, right? He called again, though, so I answered it, thinking that it must be important.
PALINODE: You're in a meeting, aren't you?
ME: Yes, but you knew that. What's up?
PALINODE: Do you want a corn snake?
ME: A corn snake. You're calling me mid-meeting to talk about getting a corn snake?
PALINODE: It's a free corn snake on Craigslist. These people are moving, and they're even giving away the tank and his rock and some…
ME: You're calling me mid-meeting to talk about getting a corn snake.
PALINODE: A free corn snake.
ME: The cats would eat him.
PALINODE: The cats would love him. They would lick him. They might even pick his name.
ME: They would call him something stupid like Mr. Meowsers.
PALINODE: Don't insult their taste.
ME: Can we talk about this over supper?
And then my clients and I laughed about free snakes, and I never mentioned the corn snake over supper, because I can only imagine how great it would be to wake up to to a decapitated snake head in the middle of the night after one or all three of the cats decided he was the most awesome piece of string ever and I should have a snack of yummy, yummy snake brains.
So, no corn snakes are living in our apartment. Yet. I say "yet", because I said "corn snake" out loud a little while ago, and his eyes lit up like 3000-watt Christmas tree.
The end. Maybe.