She had her own odor, too, and her own voice, as all humans did.  Her voice was husky and he liked to hear it even when he did not grok her meaning; her odor was mixed (he knew) with an unscrubbed trace of bitter muskiness from daily contact with snakes.  It did not put him off; Pat's snakes were part of Pat as were her tattoos.  Mike liked Pat's snakes and could handle the poisonous ones with perfect safety - and not alone by stretching time to anticipate and avoid their strikes.  They grokked with him; he savored their innocent merciless thoughts - they reminded him of home.  Other than Pat, Mike was the only person who could handle Honey Bun with pleasure to the boa constrictor.  Her torpor was usually such that others could, if necessary, handle her - but Mike she accepted as a substitute for Pat.