I’m what you’d call a "try-hard." While everyone else gets cats or dogs, I got a snake just to prove I'm different. Some people question my life choices. "I can cuddle my cat anytime I want. Can you say the same about your snake?" I leaned down and planted a big, fat kiss right on my snake's head. Mwah! "Not only can I cuddle him, I can kiss him too." "My dog is super friendly; you can pet him all you want, and he won't bite." I ran my hands all over my snake's body, even playfully tying him into a loose knot. "Mine's a softie. Easier to handle than a dog." [Girl, stop playing! Can't you see the male lead has already fainted from happiness?] [Usually, he only dares to sneak a kiss when she's asleep. How is he supposed to handle this kind of affection?] [He's already passed out twice today. She gives him a little sugar, and he’s like: "She's got moves."] 1 I've been a try-hard since I was a kid. To show how unique I was, while other kids played in the mud, I sat on the sidelines reading books and doing homework. A little girl with a butterfly bow in her hair blinked at me and ran over, extending a warm invitation. "Fiona, come play with us! It's so much fun." I lifted my chin arrogantly. "No thanks. I think reading is more fun." The little munchkins all gasped in unison, their round eyes widening. One kid dropped his jaw in awe. "She's amazing. She loves studying so much." I secretly puffed out my chest. From that moment on, I fell in love with the feeling of being different. In middle school, my classmates were immature and bullied a transfer student from a poor rural family. To show how different I was, I swooped in like an anime protagonist. Not only did I chase away the bullies, but I also became his best friend. In high school, everyone started taking things seriously, burning the midnight oil to improve their grades. But me? I sat comfortably at the top of the class, leaving right when the bell rang. I was all about that effortless vibe. My desk mate, sporting dark circles under her eyes, was green with envy. "Fiona, how do you get grades like yours?" I looked up at the sky, feigning distress. "Maybe it's just talent. I don't really study." I successfully elicited a gasp of envy from her. By college, a pet craze swept through campus. Cats and dogs were everywhere. To show how different I was, I decided to get something unique. 2 But what to get was the problem. After a lap around the pet store yielded nothing, I walked down the street, feeling defeated. I spotted a bench and sat down to rest. My gaze wandered to a nearby bush. A creepy-crawly sensation spread over my body, and my legs turned to jelly. There was a snake in the grass, sunbathing. I stood up shakily, ready to bolt. I moved carefully, terrified of disturbing Mr. Snake's sunbathing session. Two steps later, it hit me. Cats, dogs, hamsters—too common. What if I kept a snake? And not just any pet store snake. A wild one. The moment the thought crossed my mind, I couldn't move. I turned back, pulled out my phone, and used an app to identify it. The result: Rat Snake. Non-venomous. The little black snake was still blissfully soaking up the sun, looking incredibly relaxed. He had no idea danger was approaching. In a flash, I pinched him by his "seventh inch"—the spot behind the head where you're supposed to grab a snake. The little black snake finally reacted, thrashing wildly. Startled, I almost let go. He whipped his head around, ready to bite, but then froze. We stared at each other. The snake tilted his head. He retracted his fangs, flicked his tongue, and licked my hand. I swear I saw a hint of ingratiation in his actions. Was he also captivated by my unique aura? I didn't dare move. If the enemy doesn't move, I won't move. The snake seemed to calm down. He hung there obediently, widening his eyes as if trying to look cute. I tentatively patted his head. "From today on, you're not a stray snake anymore." He nudged my palm. Why did the little black snake look shy? I must be seeing things. Snakes can't be shy. 3 Since he was wild caught, I decided to quarantine him for a few days. I didn't have a cage, so I found a cardboard box and lined it with a small blanket. The snake was well-behaved the whole time, letting me place him in the box. His tail tip brushed against my wrist occasionally. Afraid he might escape and scare the neighbors, I put the box in my bedroom and blocked any gaps. Now he couldn't get out. Exhausted from the day, I washed up and fell asleep. I slept deeply but felt something heavy pressing on my chest, like I was being strangled. Morning came. I opened my eyes and found the culprit weighing me down. The little snake was curled up in a ball, sleeping soundly on my chest. I pinched his head and tossed him aside. He woke up, slapping the bed with his tail in protest, and slithered back onto me. I tossed him again. He crawled back. After a few rounds, realizing he had no intention of attacking, I let him be. School was starting in a few days, and I definitely wanted to take him out for a walk. Before that, I decided to train him. I would turn him into a snake more obedient than a dog and cuter than a cat. If I took him out and he misbehaved or bit someone, I'd be a laughingstock. 4 "First things first." I looked sternly at the snake. He coiled himself into a mosquito coil shape, sitting up straight. "I need to give you a name. Something low-key but meaningful, fitting my status." "Your name is—Inky." The little guy, head held high, slumped down. A look of speechlessness seemed to cross his dark face. The audacity! Questioning me? I went through the entire dictionary to pick that name! I coughed loudly to remind him of his attitude. "Next, learning how to be a good pet. For example..." "Inky, sit." The snake straightened his head, pointing his tail at himself as if asking, Who? Me? I looked at his long body. Asking him to sit might be a bit tough. So I changed the command. "Inky, shake hands." He slithered forward and placed the tip of his tail in my palm. I gave it a squeeze. Smooth. Nice texture. "Good boy! That's my Inky." The moment I squeezed his tail, he flopped over, his whole body going limp. Confused, I poked him. "Inky, what's wrong?" He remained limp, lying powerless on the floor. Worried, I picked him up. "Snakey, are you okay?" His body temperature was low, so I instinctively pressed him against my chest to warm him up. He came to, took one look, and thud—fainted cold. I quickly put him in my bag and rushed to the vet. The vet examined him while I waited outside. When he came out, I surrounded him anxiously. "Doctor, what's wrong with my snake? Why did he suddenly faint?" The vet put down his instruments, sat back in his chair, and said concisely: "Overstimulation." I thought hard. Nothing stimulating had happened. It must be the new environment. And I was too eager to train him. Sumimasen, Inky.
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