“Occupado,” said the snake is its best faux Spanish accent. Normally I would’ve slammed the toilet bowl lid on its smug little serpentine face, but I had yet to have my coffee, it was too early in the morning, and I really had to go.

“Excuse me,” I said, fighting the urge to wring the reptile’s neck, “but this is MY apartment, not yours.”

“Right then,” replied the snake. “You must be Jocinda. I’ll just wait outside.”

I must’ve been in there a half hour, too afraid to open the bathroom door, though I’m not sure if I was more afraid the snake was real or that the whole thing was in my mind.

Finally, I cracked open the door just wide enough to see the snake perched casually on my bed, reading the New York Times.

“Ah, good. You’re finished,” said the snake, looking up from the newspaper. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“That sounds like a nice place to start,” I said.

“Well,” he replied. “Let’s just say the planet is about to have a crummy day, and you’re the only one who can stop it.”