I was in the kitchen making myself tea when I happened to glance out the window and see my cat, Tom Tom Tiger* had something in the yard. Usually he has a mouse or a chipmunk and then I will go out and praise him and tell him he is a mighty hunter and he will rub his face on me and get cat spit on my hands. If it is a very special day he will leave the tiny bodies of his vanquished foes on the walk where the dog will try to eat them and then I have to act like this is just what I always wanted and then dispose of the corpse later when he is not watching because I want him to keep catching mice.
This morning however I noticed that the victim in question was doing a lot more jumping then usual.
I called to Scott that Tommy had something and he rushed to the window because this is the country and we don't have TV so this is what you do with yourself.
So about that point the frog gave a mighty jump and I said holy crap it's a frog I have to rescue it. I have no idea what Scott thought about all this because at that moment I was already moving while yelling “NO Tommy don't kill it! You have no idea about the plight of amphibians in this over industrialized nation!”** Then I sprinted out the door.
Luckily Tommy was not that interested in his prey and I was able to reach it while it was still alive. For Tommy Tomerson is a deadly assassin cat. Like Ninja.
The frog. It was big. Not so big that I couldn't fit it into one hand while Tommy was rubbing his head on my fingers making the frog wobble, but pretty big. I picked it up and looked at it. It looked back at me placidly. It was tan. It was looking at me without the slightest trace of fear.
Now that I picked it up I had no idea what to do with it. It felt sticky. Like it had been out of the water too long. There was no telling how far Tommy had chased it from. Scott opened the kitchen window so we could talk. “It's a big one", I said stupidly. Scott agreed that it was.
I decided to take it to the creek. Which meant I was walking to the creek. Holding the frog. It took this in stride. It didn't pee on me, or try to get away. It just sat in my hand with it's eyes half closed like this happened all the time and it couldn't be bothered to care about it right now.
So I came to the creek and set it down on some leaves, made sure it looked okay and left.
Which is my good deed for the day.
I wish you well frog.
I wish you well.
* Yes I am an adult and I call my cat Tom Tom Tiger. Or occasionally Tommy Tomerson. But it's Tom Tom on the vet paperwork. Look I am an adult don't you fucking judge me.
**Yes I actually literally said that. Sometimes my brain can be surprising beautifully elegant. Usually only about frogs.