Acadia screams at my description of the snakes. Or, wait … no. Yawns.

The water has started to rise and there are snakes. Full-grown anacondas fleeing my basement, yellow and gray and black, and I wonder whether it’s common for people to coexist with snakes, hidden until a natural disaster drives them out into the open. Yet that’s exactly what I seem to have been doing. Coexisting with snakes.

Though the prospect of flood damage is worrisome and the snakes are an immediate concern, it isn’t until I think of Acadia that I panic. Is she still inside the house? Is she trapped on a chair, surrounded by reptiles and rising water? Then I see her paddling along an exterior wall toward the back yard, away from me. I step quickly into the water up to my knees, my waist, my chest, wading against the flow of snakes, trying to get to her before they do.

I’m riding with Donald Trump in his gold-plated, pimp-style Cadillac. He pulls over to attach a gold lamé pillow to the front grille. It’s shaped like a police badge.