What are you afraid of?

Monday night, my mom called me. This, in and of itself, is not rare or unusual. I probably talk to my folks a couple times a day for a few minutes – just checking in or letting the baby yell, “Hi! Papa! Hi! Mimi!” (And it’s really a lot like that. It’s not “Hi, Papa.” Those exclamation points are placed just like that. He’s very excited to talk on the phone. I’m sure, being male, that’ll go away before too long.) But Monday, our conversation went something like this:

“Hey, Mom.”

“There’s a snake in our house.”

“…Um. What?”

“The dogs were going crazy so Dad went to check on them and there’s a snake in the room with them. He’s trying to catch it. Do you think your husband would come help if we need him? Also, pray that he can get it.”

I assured her that yes, my husband would come over and help if needed. Mom said not to send him unless she called back. We hung up and I sat on the couch feeling slightly ill. Shortly thereafter, the phone rang again.

“Dad caught it in a box. What should he do with it?”

“I have no idea. What kind is it?”

“Should he send you a picture?”

At this point, the slightly ill went straight into roiling nausea. Because, y’all, if there is anything I’m terrified of? It’s snakes. Just typing the word gives me the heebies. Sufficient to say, I did NOT want a photo of a snake — any kind of snake — texted to me. I suggested they call my sister.

Before too long, my sister hit me up on facebook to let me know that it’s “just” a black rat snake and that Dad was taking it to the ravine behind their house to release it. I suppose all’s well that ends well…but I still don’t understand how it got in their house.

And the possibility leaves me marginally afraid to walk around in my own house.