Discovering Kitty in my bedroom with a brown snake was terrifying for me as a nine-year-old. I froze with fear, stiff like icy poles in mum’s freezer. Kitty acted as if she was in control, but I knew Snake could kill Kitty or me in an instant, or slither away to some unknown hiding place in our house.  

Kitty guarded her victim with pride, tail slowly waving back and forth on the wooden floorboards. Snake remained still for a few minutes, before raising his head, appearing to climb the wall. Whack, went Kitty’s paw, knocking Snake off the wall and back onto the floor. Snake remained still for a few more minutes before starting to climb the wall again. Kitty whacked Snake again, and back to the floor went Snake. Snake attempted a different escape route, slowly moving towards the door, but again Kitty swiped him back with a definite, ‘don’t you go anywhere.’ Kitty clearly enjoyed being in control and I suspect she enjoyed tormenting her new toy.

I remained still and silent, unable to move from the doorway, scared for me and scared for Kitty. My sister came up behind me and screamed, ‘Daddy! Kitty’s gotta snake! Kitty’s gotta snake!’

Daddy rushed to my side, carrying a large shovel. He paused momentarily, before deftly jamming that shovel into the neck of the snake, severing its head and leaving a mixture of bright red blood and guts on my bedroom floor.

Kitty looked disappointed. She stared at me and I knew exactly what she was thinking: Why did you do that? That snake was mine. I wanted you to admire me. 

I picked her up and tried to cuddle her, but Kitty struggled, jumped out of my loving arms and walked away.