Chapter 2 - Sunny’s Strange New Habit
Daniella arrived at 3:26 the next afternoon carrying two bags.
One contained veterinary equipment.
The other contained groceries.
Margaret stared at them.
“You planning to treat the snake or move in?”
“Possibly both.”
Daniella kissed her mother’s cheek and stepped inside.
At forty-two, Dr. Daniella Lawson had spent nearly seventeen years working with animals, including seven years treating reptiles and exotic pets.
She had seen loving owners make dangerous mistakes.
Usually those mistakes began with the same sentence.
He’s never done that before.
Or worse:
He would never hurt me.
Animals weren’t villains.
That was something Daniella told clients constantly.
But neither were they tiny humans covered in fur, feathers, or scales.
Instinct mattered.
Environment mattered.
Stress mattered.
And large constrictors deserved respect.
Daniella set her equipment on the kitchen table.
“Where is he?”
“Sunroom.”
“Secure?”
“Yes.”
“You checked?”
“Twice.”
Daniella opened her mouth.
Margaret pointed a finger.
“Don’t start.”
Daniella almost smiled.
Almost.
“Show me exactly what he does.”
Margaret leaned against the counter.
“He comes upstairs.”
“I know.”
“He gets onto the bed.”
“How?”
Margaret shrugged.
“Determination.”
“Mom.”
“I have a low cedar chest at the foot of the bed. He uses that.”
“And then?”
“He lies beside me.”
“Straight?”
“Sometimes.”
“Curled?”
“Sometimes.”
“Around you?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Yes.”
Daniella stopped writing.
“How tightly?”
“Not tightly.”
“Have you ever had difficulty moving?”
“No.”
“Breathing?”
“No.”
“Any bruising?”
“No.”
“Has he ever positioned his head near your chest or face?”
“Daniella, please.”
“I need an answer.”
Margaret sighed.
“Once near my shoulder.”
Daniella stared at her.
“He’s big, Mom.”
“I noticed.”
“How big?”
“You’re the veterinarian.”
“When did you weigh him last?”
Margaret looked away.
Daniella’s expression tightened.
“Mom.”
“It’s been a while.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
Daniella rubbed her forehead.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That means something.”
“It means we’re going to examine him.”
They entered the sunroom together.
Sunny’s enclosure occupied nearly half the wall.
Daniella inspected the exterior first.
Locks.
Ventilation.
Thermostat.
Heating elements.
Humidity system.
Something immediately bothered her.
She crouched beside the digital controller.
“What temperature are you keeping this side?”
“Same as always.”
“This says seventy-three.”
Margaret frowned.
“That can’t be right.”
Daniella touched the enclosure wall.
“What about the secondary thermometer?”
Margaret pointed.
Daniella checked.
Seventy-two.
Her face hardened.
“When did you last verify the heating system?”
“Last week.”
“Was it this cold?”
“No.”
Daniella opened the control housing.
One indicator light flickered.
Then died.
She unplugged the system.
“Your primary heating element isn’t functioning correctly.”
Margaret stared.
“But Sunny has been coming upstairs for months.”
Daniella nodded.
“So this might be part of it, but not all of it.”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“You sounded on the phone like he was planning something terrible.”
Daniella turned.
“I sounded frightened because sleeping beside a large python is unsafe regardless of his motivation.”
“But he was looking for warmth.”
“Possibly.”
“You said that wasn’t the point.”
“It isn’t.”
Daniella sat beside her mother.
“Mom, reptiles don’t seek human companionship the way people sometimes imagine. Sunny may associate you with warmth, routine, access, even security. But that doesn’t mean we should assign human intentions to every behavior.”
Margaret looked through the enclosure glass.
Sunny’s tongue flicked slowly.
“He knows me.”
“I believe he recognizes familiar patterns.”
“That is veterinarian language for yes.”
Despite herself, Daniella smiled.
Then it vanished.
“There could still be another reason he’s changed his behavior.”
“What?”
“Stress. Temperature. Illness. Environmental changes. Feeding issues.”
Margaret stiffened.
“Is he sick?”
“I don’t know yet.”
They prepared the room carefully before handling him.
Daniella had brought a veterinary technician, Marcus, who waited outside until needed.
Margaret complained.
“You brought reinforcements?”
“I brought another trained adult.”
“I’ve handled Sunny alone for years.”
“That’s one of the things we’re going to stop.”
Margaret shook her head.
“You’ve become bossier with age.”
“I learned from an expert.”
Sunny was brought out slowly and safely.
Daniella examined his mouth, scales, muscle tone, eyes, body condition, breathing, and responsiveness.
At first, nothing alarming appeared.
Then she noticed something.
“Hold there.”
Marcus paused.
Daniella ran her hands carefully along Sunny’s midsection.
Margaret watched.
“What?”
“Probably nothing.”
“Doctors only say that when it’s something.”
“I’m not a doctor for you.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Daniella continued palpating.
Sunny shifted.
A subtle firmness.
Daniella moved her hand again.
“Has his appetite changed?”
Margaret thought.
“He refused his last meal.”
Daniella looked up sharply.
“You didn’t mention that.”
“Snakes refuse meals.”
“They can. When?”
“Ten days ago.”
“And before that?”
“He ate normally.”
“Any vomiting or regurgitation?”
“No.”
“Unusual stool?”
“No.”
Daniella remained quiet.
Margaret’s anxiety grew.
“What are you feeling?”
“I’m not sure.”
Those four words frightened Margaret more than anything else.
Daniella rarely admitted uncertainty.
She moved her hand farther down Sunny’s body.
Then stopped again.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Mom, when exactly did he start spending longer periods near you at night?”
Margaret tried to remember.
“Maybe August.”
“And when did you first notice him wrapping around your legs?”
“September.”
Daniella glanced toward the malfunctioning heater.
Then back at Sunny.
“Has he been restless during the day?”
“Yes.”
“How restless?”
“He moves around the enclosure more.”
“Climbs?”
“Sometimes.”
“Pushes against the doors?”
Margaret nodded.
Daniella exchanged a look with Marcus.
Margaret caught it.
“I hate when professionals do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look at each other instead of speaking.”
Daniella stood.
“I want imaging.”
“Today?”
“Today.”
Margaret’s face changed.
“You think something’s wrong.”
“I think we need answers.”
The drive to Daniella’s clinic felt longer than usual.
Sunny traveled in a secure transport container.
Margaret sat beside him in the back seat while Marcus drove.
Daniella sat in front, making phone calls.
Margaret kept one hand resting on the outside of the container.
“You’re okay,” she whispered.
Daniella heard her.
She said nothing.
At the clinic, Sunny was taken into the exotic-animal treatment area.
Daniella arranged bloodwork and imaging.
Margaret waited in the hallway.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Then forty-five.
Margaret hated hospitals.
Human or animal, it didn’t matter.
Waiting rooms carried the same smell of uncertainty.
At 5:12, Daniella finally appeared.
Margaret stood immediately.
“Well?”
“We found something.”
The color disappeared from Margaret’s face.
“Cancer?”
“No.”
“An obstruction?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
Daniella pulled out a chair.
Margaret refused to sit.
“Just tell me.”
Daniella looked toward the treatment room.
“Sunny’s body condition has changed more than I expected.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s under stress.”
“From the heater?”
“Partly.”
“And?”
“There’s something else.”
Margaret’s hands tightened around her purse.
Daniella opened the imaging study on a nearby monitor.
Margaret stared at shapes she couldn’t interpret.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
Daniella pointed carefully.
“This is why I want a specialist to review everything before I give you a final answer.”
Margaret looked at her daughter.
“But you have an idea.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Daniella hesitated.
Sunny shifted inside the treatment room behind them.
The sound made Margaret turn.
“Daniella.”
Her daughter lowered her voice.
“The nighttime behavior may not be affection at all.”
Margaret swallowed.
“I know you said that.”
“No. I mean the reason he’s repeatedly seeking your bed may be connected to something happening inside him.”
“Him?”
Daniella stared at the imaging screen.
Then she said something Margaret never expected.
“Mom, there may be something about Sunny we’ve been wrong about for three years.”
Margaret blinked.
“What could we possibly be wrong about?”
Daniella zoomed in on the image.
And as Margaret leaned closer, her daughter pointed to a series of pale oval shadows inside the python’s body.
Margaret’s confusion deepened.
“What are those?”
Daniella did not answer immediately.
May you like
Because the answer would overturn almost everything Margaret believed she knew about the animal sleeping beside her.
And it was only the beginning.
