October 17th, 2018
There’s something I feel I must confess.
I was on my way to the post office to mail a letter to you when I decided to take the shortcut leading by the quarry. The path was a bit more overgrown than it had been when I last used this route in the spring. Long story short, I ended up slipping on a pile of wet leaves and the letter flew out of my claws and straight into a pit of very angry rattlers who now know your home address.
Believe me when I say that once this had happened there was nothing I could do. I did briefly consider trying to tap the envelope back out of their trench using a small limb or stick, but, due to the ferocity with which the snakes were all barking at me, I was afraid one might grab the branch and try to smack my fingers with it.
We can only assume they have opened the letter and are aware of its contents.
I can’t exactly remember how much of your personal information I divulged in this letter, but there’s a good chance the serpents now know you have a househusband named Gordon.
I may have also gone into some detail regarding your Uncle Perth’s idea for an invention that carbonates water and allows whoever would be interested in this sort of thing to flavor and create their own sodas, so maybe tell him he might should go ahead and make a move on patenting that before the snakes do. But, as I also mentioned in the pilfered letter, I feel like that is already a thing that exists, so it probably doesn’t even matter. Tell Perth I am sorry either way.
The fact that I dropped the letter in that nest has proven to be quite ironic considering in it I actually wrote somewhat at length about rattlers. I had a whole thing about their lack of eyelids and how I’m not sure if they have tails or are just a big tail or what the deal is. I didn’t find it to come across as all that insulting, but it now occurs to me that this might be the thing that ends up really pushing them over the edge.
If it’s any consolation to you, this of course means that they now have my personal address as well.
I have sent you many letters over the years (the vast majority of which having arrived without interception by an elongated, legless, carnivorous reptile), so you are aware that I own a sheet of elegant stickers that each display my return address, one of which I apply to every piece of outgoing mail. I fear this, combined with the fact that I seal all my envelopes using a fanciful wax stamp, will lead the snakes to believe I am actually quite wealthy, which may boost morale on their mission to collar me.
Until this all blows over I am staying at a Days Inn. I requested a snake-free room but I feel like I can smell that someone had some snakes in here at one point in time.
I telephoned Officer Cobb (whom you and I have known since eighth grade) down at the police station and asked him if he would drive by my house. If he sees any western diamondback rattlesnakes there I asked if he would please tell them to go away. I was going to advise that you do the same, but his response to me was he let out a long sigh and then he just went, “We’ll see.” Officer Cobb may still be mad that I did not appear as his character witness during the trial in which he stood accused of exhibiting excessive force against a noncompliant ball python. He might be mad at you about that, too.
In the letter (the one that the snakes have absconded with) I believe I mentioned that the next time I see you I’m going to return to you your Jackson Browne greatest hits CD. Because of my written inclusion of this detail, if the rattlers end up busting into my house or something (God forbid), I’m worried they’ll think the album is one of your prized possessions and break it out of spite.
I know this isn’t an ideal situation for me to put you in, and I wish there was more I could do. All I can hope for at this point is that this message reaches you without, well, you know.