Silly Snake had the best jokes and the worst bed. He slept in a hollow log under a leaky root, and tonight the rain found him again. Cold water dripped on his glasses. He tried to laugh it off. He balanced a droplet on his nose and crossed his eyes at it. But shivering ruined the joke. A snake needs a warm place to be silly. He had none. He slithered out into the mud to look, glasses sliding down his snout. He pushed them back up with the tip of his tail. Every good spot was taken. A rabbit family filled one burrow. A den under the oak already had a sleepy badger snoring inside. Silly Snake told himself a knock-knock joke to stay brave. He forgot the punchline halfway through. That never happened when he was warm. Then he smelled dry earth. He followed the scent past a fallen fence and stopped. A small hill rose from the ground, round and snug. Vines curled over the top like messy hair. A wooden doorframe stood in the front, and a flat board made a little step. No one had claimed it. The mud around the entrance held no fresh tracks. Silly Snake poked his head through the doorway. Inside, the air was dry and still. It smelled of clean dirt and old roots. The rain could not reach him here. A soft corner held a patch of dry moss, perfect for curling. Silly Snake coiled up on it and let out a long, happy sigh. "Home," he whispered. Then he tried his knock-knock joke again. This time he remembered the whole thing. He laughed so hard he knocked his glasses off. He found them, put them back on, and laughed some more. Warm and dry, his silliness came right back. But when he settled to sleep, he noticed something. A wooden bowl sat in the far corner. Beside it lay a chewed stick and a curl of gray fur. This den was not empty. Someone lived here. Silly Snake froze on the moss. The fur was thick and coarse. The stick was gnawed by strong teeth. Whoever left them was big, and they would be back. He had finally found a warm burrow. He just did not know if it was truly his to keep.