Note: I’m on vacation (Fred’s holding down the fort) and will be back home at the end of the week. For the entirety of this week, I’m posting some of my favorite old posts to keep you entertained. I’ve included a few Noms pictures at the end of each post. Regular posts will resume next week!
Frog-haters, you may want to give this one a miss.
(Originally written on July 22, 2002.)
So, evidence that I am a girly-girl. I was upstairs vacuuming earlier, in hopes of making the house look halfway decent, and I went into the little study where Spanky and Tubby were hanging out, and of course as soon as they saw the vacuum cleaner, they vamoosed out of there. I was happily vacuuming along when I saw something in the corner of the study. It looked, to be honest, like a pile of poo.
“FANCYPANTS!” I said aloud. “I can’t BELIEVE he would do that!” I shut off the vacuum cleaner and went to take a closer look.
It was not, in fact, a pile of poo. It was a frog. And not a little, cute one, either, but a big, meaty one. I stood and stared at it, wondering if it was dead. It didn’t seem to be moving at all, and so I ran and grabbed the phone and called Fred.
“When you’re out getting maps at AAA later, would you swing by the house? THERE’S A FROG IN THE STUDY!”
He was all “A frog? In the study? Is that what you said?”
“Yes!” I all but screamed, “A FROG IN THE STUDY!” I paused. “Well, a frog or a toad. I don’t know the difference.”
“So grab it and take it outside,” he said, his voice implying that I was making drama where there was none, which proved what I’ve always suspected. The man is insane.
My voice rose close to a pitch that only dogs could hear. “I’M NOT TOUCHING A FROG!”
He laughed. “Why not? It’s just a frog! It won’t hurt you!”
I tried to explain. “It’s a big, fat frog. It’s all big and meaty. If I try to pick it up, it’s going to JUMP on my FACE and STICK THERE.”
He laughed even harder. “Just pick it up!”
I went back into the study and looked at it again.
“I think it’s dead,” I said. “It’s not moving at all.”
“You should poke it with a stick!”
I let out a little shriek at the very thought. “NO WAY! It’s probably just playing dead until I’m close enough for it to leap at my face!”
“Well, then close the study door and I’ll take care of it when I get home.”
I hung up the phone, did a quick little vacuum in the study, keeping my eye on the frog – who didn’t move – the entire time. Once done in there, I shut the door and vacuumed the rest of the upstairs.
After showering and getting ready to do a few errands, something occurred to me. Hadn’t the spud bought or been given a fake frog at some point in the past? What if she’d stuck it in the corner of the study before she went to Maine, and I simply hadn’t noticed it? Wouldn’t that just make me an idiot? Wouldn’t Fred laugh so hard he passed out if he went to rescue me from a big, ugly frog, and it was a fake?
Resolute, I walked toward the study and opened the door. I walked into the room, toward the corner, which you cannot see from the doorway, because the spud’s desk is blocking it.
The corner was empty.
Cue the scary Halloween music.
I turned around, and in the corner behind the door – the mostly-closed door – the frog sat. His eyes glittered as he gazed at me.
“Hallo, Clarice,” he said.
I screamed. Miz Poo, hearing my scream, came running in to protect me. She chirruped, and was running toward me when the frog caught her attention.
“I sense the need for some fava beans,” the frog said, his eyes twirling madly.
Miz Poo inched toward him, sniffing wildly. I had visions of Hannibal-frog’s tongue shooting out and grabbing the hapless Miz Poo. I had to protect her, but I wasn’t going near that thing! I did the only thing I could.
I took a picture, the flash blinded the frog, Miz Poo came running toward me, I scooped her up, ran out the door to safety, and slammed the door shut.
Hopefully the frog is too short to reach the doorknob. But the cats are keeping watch, just in case.
(Fred is now calling Logie “Whipper” because of her tail whipping skillz.)