slytherin

Housesitting can bring much to one's life: extra cash, the unconditional love of someone else's puppies, a beautiful home with 10 flat screen televisions, a pool, jacuzzi, workout room, sonic ice, and other luxuries I could only attain if I came upon One-Eyed Willie's treasure or sold my vital organs. As the old saying, actually I think it was scripture, goes, 'to much is given, much is required'. I couldn't agree more. The upkeep of this house alone would set me back a year's salary. Of course, that is taking the proverb literally. Spiritually, the owners of this home, while I don't know them well, are quite generous. Even though the basement could be transformed into the neighborhood starbucks at a moment's notice, many young people gather there on a regular basis in a safe, supportive environment. Besides, being the 'cool' house, these parents always know where their kids will be.

In addition to sonic ice, one thing I certainly was looking forward to was the pool. Not that I don't have access to a pool regularly. There is the apartment pool, or pools. There are two of them and when visited, I hope that one has been unofficially designated as the kiddie pool. I have become more persnickety about pools in my old(er) age. As a youngster I could care less, heck I'd even settle for a large round plastic pool from the local Wal-marts. However, as one matures, so does their realization of things like cleanliness, noise--kid noise, pda, and the creepy guy(s) who gawk at female residents, such as myself, like they've been in the state penitentary for the past 25 years.

Ah...the pool. There was a reason this pool was extra special...it was all mine. No kids jumping cannonballs or whining about their little brother splashing water or leaving God knows what in the pool. No couples, oblivious to onlookers, making the poolside their honeymoon resort or motel 6. No peeping toms staring with those disturbing eyes. There was only one pool. One pool surrounded by beautiful landscaping. One pool with comfortable One pool continually cleaned by a timed vacuum. One pool with water, lightly salted. One pool capable of making me the most popular kid in school this week. One pool with one problem-one little snake.

Once I learned that I would be petsitting and toured the home, I quickly shared all the vital details, such as the pool, with close friends. Any afternoon was game for laying around the pool, especially for teachers such as myself. A dear close friend came over a few days ago to soak in the luxury and some rays. We were having a grand time pretending all of it was ours and discussing important things like relationships and beauty products. An occasion arose for her to go into the house. She got up to put on her flip-flops only to find our little problem, the snake. Our little friend, Slytherin, was resting atop her flip flop. His bright green color was in stark contrast to her black shoe, yet she almost placed her foot there unbeknownst of his presence. While we weren't jumping for joy at the sight of our new pool buddy, in his defense, he was only a wee lad, probably a baby garden snake.

Neither of us possess the qualities of Steven Irwin or your average herpetologist, so tactics such as picking up the snake were not an option. So I did what any girl would do, grab a fun noodle and detour the snake from my friend's flip-flop. Unfortunately, I detoured him directly into the pool. Slytherin glided across the pool as if he had before, which was a little disconcerning. Fun noodle in hand, I attempted to dip him out of the pool. Clearly the gadget used to skim leaves and other debris from the pool would have been more efficient. Of course I didn't think of that until a few hours after our little friend was well into the pool filter. I did however use the long pole, to which the screen filter attaches, in effort to get the snake out of the filter. Obviously, obivous logic was not used.

The next morning he was gone. Snake out of sight, but not out of mind. Although I have had pool time since then, I am continually on guard for our fine, non-feathered friend, Slytherin.