It was a teeny tiny coastal carpet hatchling. I'm talking miniscule. So of course, being the big tough bruiser I am, I squealed like a stuck pig, flung my hand out and sent the poor thing flying across the room, where thankfully it managed to hook itself around some phone lines hanging down from the wall and suffered no damage. Not so for myself, who suffered a savagely bruised ego and a wound to my pride so deep that I've scarce recovered. To this day while I'm happy to snuggle up to a 17ft long scrubby, I regard all hatchlings as the spawns of satan they are.