In a corner of my office, next to a shelf containing such diverse items as a biography of Willie Mays, Quirk and Greenbaum's "A Grammar of Contemporary English," and Carole Bloom's "All About Chocolate," sits a polyethylene snake, 45 cm tall.
To be precise, it's a golden cobra poised for attack, with fangs bared, hood flared, and ruby eyes glowing with demonic intent.
"Holy Jeee. . .hosaphat! What's that!?" So saying, my guest hotfoots it to the other side of my office. Where my other bookshelf is protected by a visitor-attuned model of R2D2.