04/23/2025
Cave Creek, Arizona—where the real estate market goes to die and the wildlife takes the deed. This million dollar ghost house had already been picked apart by squatters, a pack of coyotes, and the long, slow decay of time. By the time the bank pulled the trigger on foreclosure, the drywall was sagging, the pool was a mosquito hatchery, and there was a rattlesnake slithering somewhere inside the goddamn walls.
We were called in as the reptilian cleanup crew. The contractors refused to step foot inside until the squatter with fangs was evicted. So we crawled through holes, ran fiber-optic cameras through every crevice until finally, we saw the shimmer, this thick, healthy Western Diamondback rattlesnake, moving like liquid between the beams.
Normally, I like to keep things clean. But the house was shot to hell, and the bank—God bless corporate America—handed me a baseball bat like I was being sworn into some post-apocalyptic demolition crew. “Do what you have to,” they said. So I did.
We ripped through the walls like it was Fallujah. Dust flying, insulation hanging like wet meat, until I finally got my hand on his tail, coiled with desert rage, he came out swinging. And I don’t blame him. I’d be pi**ed too if someone dragged me out of my rent-free palace and tossed me into the sticks.
Now he’s relocated to a pack rat nest on the edge of nowhere. Less square footage, more lizards. Not quite a million dollar view, but probably a little more honest.
Arizona Snake Removal. We do foreclosures too.
