MY SNAKE HAS HISSBOOK

My snake kept trying to steal my tablet on the sly. It had been acting strange lately. Several times, it nearly dropped the tablet on its own head.

I unlocked the tablet, left it beside the enclosure as casually as humanly possible, and set up a highdefinition camera. The next thing I knew, I was sitting straight up in bed.

My snake had a Hissbook account! I watched it painstakingly tap the screen with the tip of its tail, typing: [My owner keeps saying I feel rough and tingly when she touches me.

How do I tell her the heating pad is giving her electric shocks?] [Attached: a photo of me.jpg] One refresh brought up hundreds of replies.

The other snakes were all making fun of it. [A yellow rat snake like you has an owner? And a heating pad? Fine, lie to your buddies.

Just don't start believing it yourself.] The next day, I cautiously went to check on my snake and found it coiled up in a dark corner. It was so mad it had shut down completely.

Chapter 1 After my older brother died in a car accident, I was the only one left in my family. I often went to tend his grave and our parents' graves.

One day, on the way, I accidentally stepped on a garden hose. Wasn't that a little big for a hose? Then I looked down. It was a snake! I was terrified.

I instinctively grabbed a stick lying nearby, afraid it would bite me. Instead, the snake gave me a look and slithered off, all flattened out. Huh?

That night, I dreamed that snakes had their own Hissbook. The one I'd stepped on went home and posted about me, trying to call me out.

The other snakes tore into it in the replies. [If you didn't bite the human, don't post this and piss the rest of us off.] [Stop putting cowards in my feed.] [Confirmed doormat.

I'm so mad my venom glands hurt.] They even said they'd saved it to a collection called “Pathetic Losers” and would check back regularly. The snake got so angry it passed out.

I woke myself up laughing at the dream. I'd always been terrified of snakes. Now I was actually starting to think the little thing was kind of cute.

Then I opened my door, and there it was, looking thoroughly bedraggled!

It had looped itself into a ring and hung itself up outside my front door, as if hanging itself there would prove it wasn't a coward. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I cautiously tried to get it down. The poor thing panicked, and in its attempt to intimidate me, it bit the tip of its own tail. Great. It had broken a bone. I had no words.

The snake hissed indignantly at me—“Hiss hiss hiss hiss”—and showed me its tail. Wait. What? Wanting to bite me because I'd stepped on it, I could understand.

But now it wanted to hold me responsible for biting itself? How was that fair?

Then again, if I hadn't stepped on it, it probably wouldn't have come all this way to hang itself outside my door. I was torn. It was a snake! What if it bit me?

Just then, a worker who'd been installing an air conditioner upstairs walked past. His eyes lit up when he spotted the snake. “A yellow rat snake!

I'll take that home and make snakeandchicken soup!” The snake was stunned. Even its tail stopped trembling. So was I. As he reached for it, I hurried to stop him. “Wait!

It's venomous! It bites!” He wasn't concerned. “Nah, it's a yellow rat snake. No venom.” The snake was about to be killed right there.

I whipped off my top, grabbed it with the fabric, stuffed it into my takeout bubbletea bag, and tossed the bag inside my apartment. “It's my pet!” The man stalked off, swearing. “You could've said so!

Wasting my time.” … I shut the door and stared at the bag on the floor. The bag shifted. The snake slowly poked its little head halfway out. It stared back at me in terror.

What on earth was I supposed to do now? Chapter 2 I took out my phone, snapped a picture of the snake, and looked up the species.

I searched Instagram for what I'd need to keep a snake and found the nearest exotic animal hospital while I was at it.

Then, trembling, I poked its head back into the bag with a chopstick and took it to the vet. What else could I do? It was here now.

I had to take responsibility for the little thing. … At the hospital, I cautiously asked the vet, “Cats and dogs have to wear cones so they don't bother their wounds.

Doesn't a snake need one?” The vet had clearly seen it all and calmly asked, “Take a look at its body.

Where would a cone stay put?” Feeling foolish, I let go of the leash I'd been inspecting. The bill came to over a thousand dollars. Fuck!

What exotic animal hospitals charged was highway robbery! Half a day later, I trudged home, deadeyed, carrying a mountain of supplies, a bag of baby mice, and an enclosure.

If this was the snake's revenge, it had worked. That night, the snake proved it wasn't useless. I was sound asleep when a rustling noise came from the living room.

I blearily opened my eyes just as a gray blur darted across my body. I screamed myself hoarse.

The snake easily pushed up the enclosure lid I'd thought was so secure and shot after the gray blur like lightning!

Once it had caught its prey, it made a circuit of the entire apartment, like a general inspecting its territory.

Then it dropped the mouse in front of me with a plop and hissed triumphantly: “Hiss hiss hiss hiss—” I stared at it, deadeyed, then at the expensive “escapeproof enclosure” I'd bought.

My world was falling apart. I began to notice something strange about this snake. It was interested in my tablet and phone?

Whenever I lay on the couch scrolling on my phone, its little head would sneak into view beside me, as though it were peeking at the screen.

Several times, I inexplicably found my phone's camera open. There were two tiny pointed holes near the edge, and even the shatterresistant screen protector was broken.

When I opened my photos, I found a whole collection of closeup snake selfies. Which snake could possibly be responsible? Such a mystery.

It was especially sneaky when I was asleep, always trying to steal my tablet. Several times, it nearly dropped the thing on its own head. I wanted to know what it was up to.

I unlocked the tablet, left it beside the enclosure as casually as humanly possible, and set up a highdefinition camera.

Sure enough, in the middle of the night, the snake flattened itself and expertly squeezed through a gap between the enclosure's glass panels.

Just as expertly, it used the tip of its tail to wake my tablet. The next thing I knew, I was sitting straight up in bed. My snake had a Hissbook account!

I watched it painstakingly tap the screen with the tip of its tail, typing: [My owner keeps saying I feel rough and tingly when she touches me.

How do I tell her the heating pad is giving her electric shocks?] [Attached: a photo of me.jpg] One refresh brought up hundreds of replies.

The other snakes were all making fun of it. [A yellow rat snake like you has an owner? And a heating pad? Fine, lie to your buddies.

Just don't start believing it yourself.] The next day, I cautiously went to check on my snake and found it coiled up in a dark corner. It was so mad it had shut down completely.

I was dying of curiosity. Once the yellow rat snake was asleep, I quietly opened its Hissbook. Its profile picture was a selfie.

An extreme closeup, obviously taken with the device between its teeth. I scrolled farther back—and there it was.

The very Hissbook post from my dream, about the snake getting stepped on and flattened! Chapter 3 It hadn't been a dream! The yellow rat snake was the oversharing type. But every.

Single. Post. Every single one had been saved by other snakes to their “Pathetic Losers” collections. Highlights included: [A human came by while I was eating today!

I kept eating as fast as I could and shaking my tail really hard. Scared the human off!] I squinted at the screen in disbelief.

Didn't normal snakes spit their food out and run when they got scared? But as I kept reading, I stopped laughing. Brats had thrown rocks at it until its head was covered in blood.

Someone's cat had chased it around and beaten it up. Coming to find me had been its first attempt at bravery. It had made itself into a wreath.

And bitten its own tail. … I scrolled back through the posts, feeling sorrier for it with every one. City life really wasn't easy for snakes.

Apart from the handful of people who kept them as exotic pets, most humans' first instinct on seeing a snake was either to scream or to throw rocks at it.

Honestly, even most venomous snakes only bit because they were scared out of their minds. If they were going to die, they might as well get a bite in first.

Worst case, they'd take the human with them. To a snake, a human was enormous. Why would they go out of their way to attack something that terrified them so much?

I looked at the yellow rat snake sleeping bellyup beside me. Oh, fine. The baby could have an extra frozen mouse today.

Just then, a privatemessage notification lit up on its Hissbook. The snake didn't wake. It scratched its head with the tip of its tail, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Respecting its privacy, I quietly put the tablet back. But when I came home from a job interview, the snake was gone! I was frantic. I tore the apartment apart.

Afraid it might have gotten into the closet, I even unpacked all my winter clothes and tossed them aside. Nothing. The thing couldn't call out, and calling for it got me nowhere!

I was ready to give up hope when I remembered the pet camera. I opened the feed, and my world fell apart all over again. The yellow rat snake had gone outside! This was Florida.

There really were people out there who'd catch it and turn it into soup! Wait— I suddenly remembered Hissbook on the tablet. Thank goodness I could still get in.

I opened its private messages. Another snake had asked it to come out. The other snake's profile picture showed an adorable extremered albino conda hognose.

The tactful version: Chubby baby, chubby baby! And extreme reds were expensive! The tactless version: When it wriggled, it looked like a colorful maggot.

Those two were famously dim and fond of biting their own tails. No wonder they'd hit it off! The hognose was surprisingly polite. It had written: [Hello, fellow snake.

I found your post about getting stepped on through Snakes Nearby. Do you have any wilderness survival experience? I've only ever escaped from my enclosure.

My owner seems to have passed out. Could you please tell me how to get out of the apartment? I want to find someone to help my owner.] My yellow rat snake was an eager helper.

It had replied: [Sure! Where do you live?] [First I'll teach you how to open a door. Hiss hiss hiss—] Excuse me? The hognose had given an address. Good grief.

It lived upstairs in my building, on the thirtyfirst floor. I headed straight out. Never mind whether my snake could even reach the elevator buttons.

The hognose was worth a thousand dollars. My snake was worth a plate of food.

If they went outside together, the hognose's owner could put up a “Generous Reward” notice and stand a chance of getting the baby back. But my snake?

Whose soup pot was I supposed to fish it out of? There was no time to lose! Chapter 4 The elevator dinged.

I shot out and met my yellow rat snake at the summit, huffing its way up from the stairwell. …Okaaay, then