Guess what? Momma’s home.

No, not my mother. Last I checked, she was still in Scotland. And to the best of my memory, she has never been ten feet tall, scaly, venomous, nor has she ever induced a hairline fracture to my jaw with her foot. Medically confirmed, as of this morning. But the snake is back. Right now I’m in my bedroom, watching her. I had to look it up, but the scientific name for her breed is anthropophius giganteus americanus. Literally translates to ‘giant American snake-person,’ which is pretty accurate. Also, it turns out the name Alexander Monna comes from the creator of the breed, Monna Chirkus, and her husband, Alexander. I think that’s really cute, but I don’t think the couple would be proud to know that one of their little namesakes is in my garden, scratching her butt on my fence.

So, I find myself doing a little bit of internet research. During my undergraduate degree (Or ‘bachelor’s,’ as the Yanks like to say) in Environmental Science, we Brits didn’t even touch Mommas as a topic. I only first heard of them when I moved to America and, as of yesterday, saw one in the daytime. Which was strange to me. Wikipedia says Mommas have been around since the early fifties. A fire in a Houston's Gulf Biologics Research Institute (GBRI) in 1952 exposed a huge operation, involving miliary scientists studying tactical adaptations. In my unprofessional opinion, giving a snake legs, breasts, and two imperial tons of body mass is hardly ‘tactical’ if the snake still feels confident enough to try squeezing through a three-foot gap. Massive sidetrack, but it needed to be said.

Anyway: fire in the GBRI. It tore the whole west wing of the facility down, and five hundred Mommas ran away, into the nearby woods. Seventy-five years later, America is home to over eight million of these cuties, and climbing. God. The fence is breaking, I can hear it from here. Momma is destructive, I will say. Oh, yeah— and they eat sheep. Whole. They eat everything whole, but I figured that was one worth mentioning. The government passed a bill in 1992 that boils down to “If you’re a farmer and you find a Momma on your land, eating your stuff? Shoot it.” Harsh, but it makes sense. It would cause a total collapse of our ecosystem if that law wasn’t in place. And fortunately, reports from over the last decade tell that Mommas have started avoiding populated areas. I think that’s a good thing. And they also eat coyotes.

Oh— something else; Momma’s made a culinary revolution. About half an hour ago, I watched her push over my compost bin from the window. I thought she was just being her classic Momma self, destroying my property. But then I noticed that she’d started eating all of the snails and slugs out of its remains. She’s been at it ever since. She seems really happy out there, too. But strangely, she’s up again during the day. I get the first time, that she was kinda here against her own will, but I can’t explain this one. Momma works in mysterious ways. Or maybe, being trapped in a fence for eight hours messed up her sleep schedule quite a bit. I no longer think she’s got a brood waiting, because she’d be spending time with her eggs instead of here.

I just went outside to see her, with my signature neon orange pyjamas and new wellies. I don’t think she was all too happy to see me, though— she went through her whole spiel again. Hissing, spitting, clawing, snapping her massive jaws at me. The worst part is, I just finished making our friendship bracelets. Heartbroken. But she didn’t try pouncing on me. She must just want the snails to herself, and I couldn’t agree more. Let today be your cheat day, diva. Loving that for you.

So, if the law about Mommas holds up in Oklahoma, then she’s completely protected on my property. Which spans the whole prairie. If you’d like a little more context, I’ll share. I’m not the son of some wealthy Scottish McLord, so don’t you try and marry me too quick. It’s a gift from my old job. I got my bachelor’s in Environmental Science and not in Law, so the best I do for you is a summary. Essentially, unless I choose to sell it or lose it in a legal battle (which, at this point, is heavily likely,) then I technically get to keep it forever, for free. I pay my bills and everything, but other than that, 1600 acres of Oklahoma nowhere belongs entirely to Mister-Doctor Murdo James Macleod, PhD.

Initially, it was a placement. Field work, and— tell me this — does it get more mundane than mosquito breeding patterns? Obviously, yes. But of course, I’m not in that line of work anymore. I was sacked at Greater Good Technologies early last year, but I’d rather have burned out like I did over being slowly phased out through tasks like this. They gave me this house. I may have made it out like I’m in some run-down former toolshed, but it’s absolutely gorgeous here. It came with the land. When I got laid off, they cut my funding. But they didn’t take away the house, and evidently, the land. A year and a half later, and I’m still doing my thing. Apparently, staring at a gargantuan snake ass and sleeping with a bag of frozen veg on my face is my thing, now.

If she comes back, I’ll be ready.