I figure that Burmese pythons prefer possums to 'dillos because possum fur goes down more gently than bony armadillo plates. So when you cross the line, be wary of monsters that look like 20-foot-long 200-pound link sausages.

Hey, this is the Southland, you say. The biggest snake you're liable to see slithering across I-95 is a diamond-back rattler, and it's easily eliminated. Just grab your brakes as you roll on top of it. Your skidding tires will drag it against the pavement and the buzzards will drag it to its rest.

A 200-pound python is another matter. I drive a Honda Civic, and I'm afraid that if I try to skid over a python he'll curl around me and squeeze the life out of me and my super-reliable economy sedan.

Why should I fear pythons in our placid Southland?

Listen, folks. When the Yankees invaded the South they brought more than steamed broccoli and beans and franks. They brought their pets as well. Now, when we Southerners think of pets, we think of dogs, cats, flying squirrels, possums, an occasional bear and maybe a half-breed coyote.

When Yankees think of pets, they think of snakes. What they don't know, in their regional ignorance, is that little snakes grow into big snakes, which aren't very cuddly. And if the little snake happens to be a baby Burmese python, it can grow to be 20 feet long and weigh 200 pounds.

As it happens, a lot of people took their little pythons to Florida, which offers a habitat similar to the one the snakelets left in Burma or Myanmar or whatever the despots choose to call the place these days.

As the pythons grew, they became less lovable, and so their owners turned them loose in the everglades, figuring the gators would take care of them.

Well, the slithery little varmints evaded the gators and now they've formed a breeding population, which means we can expect more baby pythons growing into big, 200-pound daddy and mama pythons.

Now that would be OK with me as long as they confined themselves to the Everglades. I'm perfectly willing to let that wild region remain in its pristine state, give or take a few immigrant pythons.

But now the climatologists are telling us that global warming is expanding the big snake's habitat.

"They are moving northward, there's no question," said Gordon Rodda, the zoologist who is leading a research project by the U.S. Geologic Survey and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. If global warming continues and the throw-away pythons keep finding each other and falling in love, they could eventually penetrate a third of the United States, researchers say.

You can be pretty sure that the third of the United States they infest is going to be the part closest to Florida, which means that you and I can eventually expect pythons for neighbors.

The good news is that the pythons are non-poisonous snakes. They kill you by snapping your bones, then wolfing you down their 20-foot digestive tract.

But what if a wayward python lass should encounter an amorous diamondback somewhere in the cypress swamps of the coastal plane? Then suppose their prodigy should cohabit with a black racer -- that sleek, fast black snake that can outrun a Thoroughbred on steroids. Now we have a 20-foot, 200-pound man-eater that can run down and grab an SUV, yank it off the road and pretend to be a fallen live oak as it leisurely digests its contents.

Some helpful advice to remember when the global warming reaches your neighborhood:

(1) Don't stop at a roadside pull-off and take your lunch while resting on a hollow log. The hollow log may have a digestive tract.

(2) When you pull over to change a tire, post a lookout. If he spots something with a long body and fangs slithering your way, jump in the car and lock all doors. If you have your cell phone, dial 911 and report that a bunch of terrorists are holding you hostage. The dispatcher won't believe you if you tell her it's a 20-foot 200-pound snake.

The wildlife folks say pythons usually don't bother people unless they're pet owners who mishandle or misfeed the snakes. I own an 11-pound Peke-a-poo which loves to rile big dogs as long as I'm behind her for back-up. I can see her riling a 200-pound python-diamondback-racer, then scampering out of the way as he slithers after me with the speed of a souped-up 'Vette.

"If you see one," advise the experts, "don't attempt to engage it. Leave the area, note the location, and notify the authorities."