The snake lay on my doorstep, spine bent at an acute angle just behind the head and its "throat" chewed open. I could guess who the culprit was. Pinkerton, my cat, usually practiced "catch and release." I’d found rats, starlings, moles—even a squirrel one time, although spirits only knew how Pinkerton had wrestled it in through his cat door—hiding under couches or peeking out at me from shelves. But this time, Pinkerton had gone for the kill.