I don’t know how the frog got in the kitchen. I didn’t even know about the frog until later. It was the clatter and crash of the cat colliding against the ceiling fan that got my attention.

Our cat, you see, is very old. Ancient, really. To the point that there are far more cat angels humming around Snug Harbor, numbers stamped on their tunics, than the customary 7 or 8 one might expect to see escorting a cat of her age. This suggests to me that she was either allotted extras at the factory, or she’s been cheating. In any case, my immediate impression was that she was having some kind of seizure as she ricocheted off the fridge and shot into the pantry.

Before I could take two steps, out popped her head. She glanced up at me, winked, and said, “mrrmph!” That’s when I saw the frog.

All cats posses the ability to finesse, to look important, on top of things regardless of circumstances. It’s a conspicuous trait to which we’ve grown accustomed, and sometimes even believe. This, however, is terribly difficult to pull off when the frog you are carrying in your jaws is trying earnestly to kick you senseless. In a sudden burst of energy, the frog landed a wicked kekomi* and jumped free. She tried to follow, but the trajectory of her somersault was wide, and he darted behind a trash can.

I finally had my wits back by this point and was able to intervene, not that the frog needed my help. She saw him go behind the trash can, but she didn’t see me scoop him up and take him outside. She still thinks he’s back there somewhere. Some evenings she sits by the can and waits.

Stupid cat.

*kekomi: “boot to the head”

Category: Stuff   Tags: karate frog