I hate snakes. With. A. Passion.
When I saw the first one, the sister missionaries were standing behind me (they live with us). I looked at them hoping one would step up and volunteer to be the murderer, but they both backed away. So I took a broom and said, "Don't worry sisters! I will protect you!" Then I beat the thing to death, while my ferocious guard dog hid behind the sister's legs.
A few days later, Michelle and I saw another snake in the exact same place!! A resurrection? I think not. We decided it was best not to tell the sisters. But then they came and told me they had killed a snake earlier that day.
So it was time to turn to the man of the house for protection. And he said, "Oh, I found one too. It was upstairs." Upstairs!! That is where I sleep!
Not a good thing to hear. Especially since the other three were all found downstairs by the back door. So if his snake entered the same way, it had to cross the entire house and climb the stairs.
How many more are in here?
I am pretty sure this qualifies as a plague.
I told my husband that he was the man of the house, that he needed to step up and kill these snakes for me. But he was not nearly as concerned as I was. He didn't see why I was upset over a few snakes and didn't think there was anything he could do about it.
So I called my neighbor. He is coming over on Monday to set some sticky traps.
And hopefully we will soon have an end to our slithering serpent plague!