old woman, trespassers and snake

I was at once visiting an old woman and I was the woman. She/I lived in a terrace house in the suburbs. We were lying down, sleeping, on an enclosed verandah that jutted out into the front garden. From there, with eyes half-closed, we could see the passers by. Drowsily I noticed that someone was walking down the driveway and going through the garage to the back yard. A few more people, all carrying things, followed. At first I assumed that they were coming to tend the yard, but as more and more people arrived, I began to grow anxious. With difficulty, I roused myself from slumber and asked a few of the young people what they were doing. Were they using my property as a short-cut to somewhere else? No, they answered. They were here to have a party and, it seemed, that they had a party in my yard on a regular basis. I realised that the old woman had lacked the energy to prevent it. She was far too tired, far too old to protect herself. Now that I was awake, I became angry. I marched through the garage and into the backyard, to see a horde of people setting up speakers, making fires, putting bottles on ice. I scanned the crowd and could see that there was one young woman who appeared to have the most authority among them. She was setting up a table at the entrance to the yard. I confronted her, telling her that they were no longer welcome here, that they were not to party here any longer. I had moved in and now owned the house. She seemed to care very little and I could see that it was going to take more than my word to evict the trespassers from our home. For this night, we resigned ourselves to the circumstances and went upstairs. I looked around the rooms, as though I had never been there before, though I now lived there. The house needed work. The walls, the furniture, everything needed some care. I sat with the woman and toyed with a few things that were lying on the table; among them, a sock stuffed with something, and, sewn onto the sock, a face. I stroked the sock for a moment, as though it was a pet. The thing inside the sock moved and hissed. The woman off-handedly remarked that perhaps I should not have done that as inside the sock was a snake. Sure enough, a short, purple snake emerged from the sock and eyed me, hissing. It slid over and tucked itself in the crook of my arm. I told the woman I was not particularly good with snakes and asked her to remove it. She did, and the snake disappeared under the table. I was edgy, thinking that the snake would dart out from somewhere and bite me. Instead, the snake appeared, pushing a branch bearing flowers, which it left at my feet. It looked up at me, retreated, and again came back with another gift. I was still tentative and the snake left to get something else. When it returned, it had transformed into a creature, still purple, that was more similar in shape and size to a goanna. I was somewhat relieved.