Imagine a pet you’ve loved and cared for, one you believe shares a deep bond with you. Now, imagine discovering that this same animal has been methodically preparing to make you its next meal. This was the horrifying reality for a young woman who shared her home with Safran, a large python she had raised for three years. Convinced of the snake’s gentle nature, she dismissed concerned friends and family, believing the connection they shared was built on mutual trust and affection. The snake’s strange new behaviors were, in her eyes, merely quirks to be cherished.
The first sign was Safran’s sudden disinterest in food. Then came the nocturnal visits. The python would leave its enclosure and lie perfectly still alongside the woman’s body as she slept, its head near her shoulder and its tail at her feet. During the day, it would position itself strategically on the floor, its gaze locked on her chest. The most disconcerting behavior was the “hugging”—the snake would wrap its powerful body loosely around her waist or rest its weight on her torso. The woman found it endearing, a unique display of her pet’s love.
But the embraces began to feel different. They grew tighter, and the pressure on her chest became uncomfortable, even frightening. The woman started waking up gasping, the snake’s heavy body feeling less like a comfort and more like a cage. A particularly sharp hiss one night finally shattered her sense of security, pushing her to seek professional help. She took Safran to a veterinarian, expecting to hear about a vitamin deficiency or a minor illness, completely unprepared for the terrifying truth she was about to learn.
The vet delivered a cold, clinical assessment that redefined the last several months of her life. He explained that Safran’s actions were textbook predatory preparations. By stretching out alongside her, the snake was measuring her size. The loose coiling around her waist was practice for constriction. Its fixation on her chest was a focus on the source of breath and heartbeat. The refusal to eat indicated it was clearing its system for a very large meal. In short, the python was not being affectionate; it was methodically planning to kill and consume her.
Armed with this horrifying knowledge, the woman saw her pet with new eyes. That final night, watching Safran assume the familiar coiled position on the bed, she felt a surge of fear instead of fondness. The illusion was broken. The next day, she contacted a reptile center and surrendered Safran to experts who could manage its true nature. The experience served as a stark and chilling reminder that some wild instincts can never be fully domesticated, no matter how much love you give.
