There are moments in life when you realize you’ve lost control of your household. For some people it’s the toddler coloring on the walls. For others it’s the dog eating the couch. For me? It was realizing one of my pets had escaped prison, committed murder, attempted a second homicide twenty-four hours later, and then strolled back to the scene of the crime like nothing happened.

Let’s start at the beginning. Friday afternoon, Hailey had a friend over and they wanted to look at Cornflake, my snake, for those unfamiliar with my poor life choices. The glass door to her enclosure got left open. Not wide open. Just enough. Which, it turns out, is all a snake needs.

By Friday night, Hailey came downstairs looking pale. “I think the dwarf hamster is dead.” We assumed she was being dramatic (kids love declaring things dead when they’re just sleeping weird )so we went upstairs to check.

Nope. Definitely dead. There was a strange wound on its neck, which kicked off a full household investigation. RIP, little guy. You did not deserve this.

The prime suspect was obviously Oreo, our cat. The cameras didn’t show much, but we collectively decided she looked guilty enough. Case closed. Or so we thought.

Saturday night I noticed Cornflake was missing. That’s when every terrible possibility crashed into my brain at once. “…I don’t think the cat did it.” Cue the entire family tearing apart a bedroom …furniture moved, closets emptied, bins opened, beds lifted and finding absolutely nothing. Cornflake had vanished into another dimension.

Eventually we gave up. I slept upstairs with Harper because I love cuddling her significantly more than I love my chiropractor.

Around five in the morning: BANG. BANG. BANG.

I bolted upright. My first thought was Bear, our black Syrian hamster, who I adore. I sprinted over, scooped him up, and started checking him over like an ER doctor. “Bear! Are you okay?”

If Bear could talk, I’m fairly certain he would’ve said, “You psycho demon bitch LOOK. IN. MY. CAGE.”

I looked down. There was Cornflake, curled up inside Bear’s enclosure, ready for Murder Attempt Number Two. Apparently Bear decided that if he was going down, he was taking the whole house down with him first.

Respect.

I grabbed Cornflake. She struck at me , never done that before, but I probably smelled like terrified hamster and I startled and accidentally launched my serial killer across the room.

Then my brain caught up. “Oh no. I just threw the escaped murderer.” Naturally I had to catch her again before she vanished for another forty-eight-hour crime spree. Back into her enclosure she went, visibly unhappy about it. Bear, meanwhile, looked like he’d just survived an action movie.

This morning everyone’s fine. Well everyone except the dwarf hamster. And Oreo, who spent an entire day falsely accused because we skipped right past the obvious possibility that the escaped predator might be the predator.

So here’s what I’ve learned: if your snake escapes on a Friday, don’t assume she’s sightseeing. She’s working through a checklist.

Escape. 

Commit murder. 

Attempt second murder. 

Get arrested by the same woman who feeds her every week. 

Honestly, prison seems appropriate. I’m not entirely convinced Cornflake isn’t already planning her next move.

I’m sleeping with one eye open. Mostly because she knows where Bear lives.

My snake is a serial killer.