True Story


So this evening The Lovely Rhonda, having brushed her teeth and made ready for a good night’s sleep, entered the boudoir (that’s fancy for grown-up bedroom) and stifled a girlish scream.


Naturally, because I am that kind of dork, I jumped up and ran to see.

Sure enough, there was a tiny little frog jumping around in the bedroom like he really, really wished he was somewhere else.  He was about the size of a dime and had some striking green on him.

A little internet research yielded up some boring blah blah blah about how this particular type of frog is the Pacific Tree Frog, smallest and most common in this area, yack yack yack.  Also, a number of adorable photos, of which I chose the most attractive for your edification:

Pacific Tree Frog

The real mystery here is how in the world this slimy little bugger got into our bedroom.  Logic dictates that if one of the cats had brought him in, they would surely have eaten him, or at least slaughtered him so he could rot quietly in one of our shoes or something.

At any rate, I captured him at the The Lovely Rhonda’s demand request and escorted him outside, which I’m sure he found confusing but was no doubt the wisest course of action.  It was amusing and so much less ooky than yesterday’s dead mouse removal.


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