So here I am, sitting in the middle of my lounge at the cabin, surrounded by screws, panic, and the cardboard remains of what Bunnings swore was a "simple, flat-packed greenhouse." At this point, I'm already questioning every life choice that led me here ... mostly the one where I thought I could put it together alone, without adult supervision.
Just as I'm contemplating setting the whole thing on fire and calling it a day, I hear a loud bang on the verandah.
I don't think much of it at first. We've got lots of wallabies with babies out here that like to bounce around. Curious creatures. Noisy, but harmless. Sometimes they get a little too close to the house. Then there's another bang… and another… and then I hear something hit the tin roof.
Important context: wallabies do not fall from the sky. That's when I realise - this is not a curious marsupial. This is… something else.
I cautiously peek outside and catch sight of a tail. Not a cute fluffy one. Nope, We're talking a long scaly snake tail - roughly six feet of it, as thick as my arm, vanishing into my guttering of my house like he pays rent.
I was not calm.
I step outside to get a better look, because clearly I have no sense of self-preservation, and there he is - the rest of him. A massive python, trying (and failing) to squeeze himself into the gutters. Spoiler: he did not fit. This guy had to be at least 15 feet long. Think "one-person sleeping bag with scales."
Naturally, I ran to grab my phone to record this horror movie in real-time. Unfortunately, by the time I returned, the snake had disappeared into the roof void like a ghost… a horrifying, muscular, roof-dwelling ghost. Still, I managed to capture a bit of it - behold, the attached clip I now refer to as "NOPE.mp4."
With nothing to do (and zero chance I'm poking around with a broom), I do what any sensible adult would do.... I go back inside and pretend this isn't happening. Denial is a valid coping mechanism.
But just as I'm starting to convince myself it was a one-off encounter, the roof erupts. It sounds like an elephant tap-dancing on my tin roof. I decide to be brave (or possibly stupid) and go back outside to investigate.
And that's when I realise - there is not just one snake.
There is two.
And they are not friends.
Nope. These guys are fighting. And let me tell you, if you've never seen two enormous snakes wrestle on a corrugated iron roof… I do not recommend it. It's like a nature documentary and a bar fight wrapped in one.
The larger snake eventually yeeted the smaller one (by "smaller," I mean only 8-10 feet) right off the roof. He landed with a meaty PLOP about four metres from where I was standing - which is exactly four metres closer than I'd like to be to any airborne snake.
Too late to film the battle, I did what any rational person would: narrate my escalating panic for your viewing pleasure.
(Video evidence: "Snake Fight Commentary - Volume 1")
The "little" guy was furious.
Undeterred, he slithered right back up the verandah like a scaly action hero and launched himself onto the roof again for round two.
Return of the Pissed-Off Python Aka - "The little guy"
I am still inside. The thumping has stopped, which means either:
-
Someone won, or
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They've joined forces and are coming for me...
But, I can hear dragging noises in my ceiling. Someone has definitely gotten in.
Please send thoughts, prayers for the roof possums.
(There are no local snake handlers or relocators here, closest is over an hour and a half away, so it's just me, my half-assembled greenhouse, and the Snake Fight Club upstairs.)