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Fifteen years back then, while perched on the rear porch of my heritage metal and lumber traditional Brisbane house, I noticed I was being observed.

I sensed the bristles on the shoulders stand on end, and I turned quickly to discover a serpent swaying from the lattice. Frightened, I bolted inside and locked the door. Evidently, anxiety is not rational, or I would have understood that reptiles don’t have arms.

I love lizards. I’ve seen Indonesia’s giant monitor lizards and held Australian skinks in the arid interior, but I have invariably been more scared than captivated by serpents.

When I was growing up in regional northern Australia in the seventies, we frequently encountered dangerous snakes – our modest town even had a reptile-named stream. Running around our outdoor space it was common to practically encounter a venomous brown snake. Elder wisdom: “Remain motionless. Keep an eye on it. And shout to Mother.”

Mother would cry out to Father, who was a a genuine reptile handler, and he’d grab a coarse fabric container, casually deposit the reptile in, then escort it up to the farm shed to eat the rats.

These constrictors benefit the environment, as they consume bush rats, and prevent noisier animals like possums from invading ceilings.

Before moving to Brisbane, I’d rarely encountered a constrictor, only venomous snakes. My anxious mother naturally did a strong warning on the risks of venomous strikes, to prevent one of her offspring fall victim to their fangs. This gave me the same kind of unease you’d get playing childhood pursuits as a kid. You love the game but there’s an element of excitement when found. Should I fight or flee?

Jump ahead several generations and I’m dwelling 4km from downtown, with a natural back yard which I have purposefully grown wild to encourage possums, kookaburras, lizards and parrots. And, it emerged, many seasons into living on the property, harmless local snake species.

A shed epidermis left hanging over the terrace like stockings.

Conquering my terror of these new housemates was progressive. Critics say it’s misguided to anthropomorphise an reptile but watching the peaceful my slithering friend move from my overhead space into the evergreen which extends over my terrace was the turning point. By naming her – I assumed it was a she from her peaceful presence – and observing her I rapidly learned what a stunning and resourceful creature she was.

I loved how she would separate her mouth to gape or when ready to eat. How she used her forked tongue to smell. I was captivated when her eyes would go cloudy in the period before she sloughed her epidermis, a token she would leave hanging over the porch like hosiery. On sunny periods she would extend her expanding size along the outdoor area and let me to run my hands along the curves of her body.

She eventually grew too curvy to slip back into the overhead area. The species are residential and, not long after, a different snake turned up, then yet another.

Straight after my initial companion came Son of Satan, or a nickname for short. Sadly Shitty thought he was a taipan, one of the handful of Australian snakes which are actually defensive, had sharp sight and auditory sense, and would lunge at my sliding door whenever he saw me inside the house.

For a period my apprehension returned and the terrace became avoided, until I reminded myself that serpents, like humans, all have unique temperaments. And that this was still a natural being. From Shitty, I learned caution.

There are snake catchers in abundance in south-east Queensland but a lot of people choose to live with our snake residents – even the defensive ones. They are positive for the environment as they prey on small mammals, and deter more disruptive animals like possums from occupying ceilings.

That snake has now departed and I’m left with Slinky, a scrawny juvenile who is, at this time, a hopeless hunter. This will change and eventually the young snake will leave my overhead space too. While I’m not sure who’s likely to become the new tenant, I’m discovering more about these fascinating, quiet creatures (you should see them scale surfaces) and I hope for the day one more sanguine snake like my cherished Sylvia blesses my back deck.