The python was named Saffron. For three years, the bright yellow snake lived in her house, becoming like a pet.
Her family warned: “Be careful, it’s a predator.”
But she only laughed: “It’s tame. It loves me and would never harm me.”
Then, strange behavior started to appear.
At first, the signs were subtle.
Saffron stopped eating. At night, it would leave its cage and stretch out beside the woman—head at her shoulder, tail at her ankles. Sometimes it coiled loosely around her waist and froze, as if measuring her ribs.
By day, the snake would rest on the cool floor near her bed, lying still for hours, tail tip twitching slightly, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of a person’s chest.
There were also quiet “hugs”: the python would slither up to her throat and stay under her collarbone, brushing her skin with its forked tongue. The woman joked that it was a kiss.
But more often at night, she woke beneath its heavy weight pressing on her chest.
And when she was startled awake one night by a sharp hiss, she realized it was time to visit the vet.
That was when she learned the frightening truth—and understood the danger of keeping a wild creature at home.
The doctor weighed the python calmly, pressed along its body, and listened to her describe the nightly “cuddles” and refusal to eat.
“You see,” he said at last, “this isn’t affection. Large pythons starve themselves and align with their owner’s body—it’s preparation before swallowing big prey. The python is sizing you up. The coiling is practice for strangulation. You have a mature, powerful female. She could cut off your breath. Rare, but real. In short—your python intended to eat you. There’s only one solution: strict isolation, a new diet, and ideally—transfer her to a proper facility. Immediately.”
The words sent a chill through her. That night, she sat at the edge of her bed, watching Saffron glide across the sheets. At one moment, the snake curled around her just like in that photo—except now she was awake.
She gently lifted the python, placed it back in the terrarium, locked the latch, and sank to the floor beside it.
By morning, she called the city reptile center. That afternoon, Saffron was moved—to a spacious enclosure, with trained staff and proper food.