Do you tire giving treats after the tenth witch? Or have you never lost your sense of the Deja-Boo?

Halloween greetings. I bring you a true tale without witches, ghosts, ghouls,  zombies or demons or anything dripping with blood. And there’s no sign of  New Age Clowns either. They, quite frankly, deserve to be treated with a simple moony rather than mobbed down by vigilantes. For those who don’t know what a moony is, well…

I get the feeling that clowns are trying to disturb and offend whilst affecting something psychologically on par with the act of patting our heads and rubbing our stomachs at the same time. I don’t know what it is exactly, but a simple display of a hairy bottom could be the thing that sets them back. Treating like with like, I suppose.

But I digress… the following is an account of a true story. I hope your Halloween evening is everything you want it to be.

Percy

This beastly flexible muscle could stretch three to four metres long when its oily leathery scales grip the surface to push forward.

If it could be bothered.

The proud pet owner’s smile smacked of a Percy Python trumping all manner of pets found in a suburban home. On top, it was exotic, robust, docile, plus easy to care; just please feed every five to fourteen days and keep warm.

Always the topic of conversation.

But of late the owner was frowning. Percy was fasting for way too long, turning his tongue up at frozen mice and rat.

Wasn’t eating anything, was waking up to find Percy, stretched out, lying still, rigid-like and cozy against his five-year-old son who called him Percy the Protector.

His son loved the scratch feel of his scaly skin.

They called the vet. Percy  had a thorough examination.

“Nothing wrong with your snake. Nothing wrong with it at all.”

“Great.”

“No. Not great. Get rid of it.

It’s sizing up your child.”

 

Cue the music (They will take requests).