For Love of Mother-Not by Alan Dean Foster

its way down the broom.
    She dropped the weapon as if the metal handle had abruptly become red hot, her expression fearful. The liquid continued to sputter and hiss as it ate away the metal. Soon it had worked its way through the last stubble and was beginning to eat holes in the metal handle itself.
    “Boy, get out of the room while ye have the chance,” shecalled huskily, staring wide-eyed at the snake while continuing to back toward her own bedroom. “If it can do that to metal, there’s no telling what—”
    Flinx laughed, then hurriedly put a hand to his mouth and forced himself to be understanding. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said apologetically. “It’s just that Pip would never hurt me. And he’s just proved that he wouldn’t hurt anyone close to me, either.”
    “How do ye know that?” she sputtered.
    “You
know,”
he replied, sounding puzzled, “I don’t know how I know it. But it’s true. Here, see?” He extended his left arm.
    Still keeping a wary eye on the woman, who continued to block the exit, the snake zipped down to land on the proffered perch. In an instant, it had multiple coils wrapped around the human’s shoulder. Then the snake relaxed, the pleated wings folding up to lie flat against the gleaming body.
    “See?” Flinx lowered his arm and gently rubbed the back of the snake’s head. “He’s just naturally friendly.”
    “Naturally ugly, ye mean,” Mother Mastiff snorted. Bending, she picked up the remnant of the broom and inspected it. All the bristles were gone, along with several centimeters of handle. A weak crackling still came from the raw edges of the tube where the metal had dissolved, though the extraordinarily corrosive liquid seemed to have largely spent itself.
    She showed the remains of the broom to Flinx, still nervous about getting too near the thing wrapped around his shoulder. “See that? Imagine what it would do to your skin.”
    “Oh, Mother, can’t you see?” Flinx spoke with all the exasperation of the young for the aged. “He was protecting himself, but because he senses that you’re important to me, he was careful not to spit any of it on you.”
    “Lucky thing for it,” she said, some of her normal bravado returning. “Well, it can’t stay here.”
    “Yes, it can,” Flinx argued.
    “No, it can’t. I can’t have some lethal varmint like that fluttering and crawling all over the place, frightening off the customers.”
    “He’ll stay with me all the time,” Flinx assured her soothingly. His hand continued to caress the snake’s head. Its eyes closed contentedly. “See? He’s just like any other house pet. He responds to warmth and affection.” Flinx brought forth his most mournful, pleading expression. It had the intended affect.
    “Well, it won’t get any warmth or affection from me,” Mother Mastiff grumbled, “but if you’re determined to keep it …”
    “I think,” Flinx added, throwing fuel on the fire, “he would become very upset if someone tried to separate us.”
    Mother Mastiff threw up her hands, simultaneously signifying acquiescence and acceptance. “Oh, Deity, why couldn’t ye stumble over a normal pet, like a cat or a saniff? What does the little monster eat, anyways?”
    “I don’t know,” Flinx admitted, remembering the hunger he had sensed the night before and resolving to do something about it soon. He had been hungry himself and knew more of the meaning of that word than most people. “Aren’t most snakes carnivorous?”
    “This one certainly looks like it,” she said.
    Reaching down, Flinx gently ran a forefinger along the edge of the snake’s mouth until he could pry it open. The snake opened one eye and looked at him curiously but did not raise any objection to the intrusion. Mother Mastiff held her breath.
    Flinx leaned close, inspecting. “The teeth are so small I can’t tell for sure.”
    “Probably swallows its food whole,” Mother Mastiff told him. “I hear that’s the way of it