I have two cats, Willow and Wisp. Will is a shy tubby tabby with a look that can freeze the blood in your veins. You know when you’re sitting on the sofa and the girlfriend is sitting next to you, noting that the cat is staring you out? Well with Willow that’s a chore. On your own you just won’t bother but when your alpha status is questioned you have to lock horns and allow your eyeballs to bleed a little.
Wisp is a different matter. Born of the same parents (allegedly) but two years younger, she is sleek, black and trouble. Still retaining some kittenish qualities (around 8 or 9 years old) she is the first to go out and investigate the world, even in rain. (Water not being too big an issue as she can always come in and rub herself dry against an unsuspecting human).
Now to events leading up to that fateful night.
We bought our home just over a year ago. It’s not huge, but fine for our purposes, with a good sized garden (not so big as to be a serious undertaking to keep it tidy but large enough to relax in). The garden has a little pond that we completely drained in the first month so that we could re-line and re-gravel and re-everything really. It was murky and shrouded in mystery. A vast number of fish came out of the pond together with a stack of frogs/toads. The pond has clouded over again during the winter months but the fish are safely ensconced in the depths as evidenced by frenzied feeding sessions when I throw some food in.
Many moons ago, our version of domestic bliss (sitting in front of tv / pc, reading, etc) was interrupted by a high pitched scream. (Sounds a little like R2D2 when he’s just been zapped by something nasty). My girlfriend goes into shout mode, first at the cat (gotta be Wisp) to put down something… then at me (upstairs) that the cat has caught a frog. So I come rushing downstairs to find Wisp held at bay by my girlfriend and a short distance away is a little slimy fella on the kitchen floor.
Not wishing to come over unmanly I sink to my knees and inwardly grit my teeth, fearing the great sliming I am about to take. I wrap my hands around the cold slippery surface and banish all thoughts of hag like looks greeting me in the morning mirror. He moves a little but my hands are locked tight. Don’t leave a gap or he’ll squirm into it and seriously slime you up. I beat a hasty (though outwardly casual) path to the pond where I successfully transfer the fella to safety. A sense of enormous wellbeing returns to me as I contemplate the saving of another creatures life and I suspect a grudging respect for my manhood from the missus.
This has happened many times since with only the one casualty. Unfortunately the casualty was a toad we nicknamed “the gimp” on account of a dodgy fore limb. Wisp had clearly scared the thing to death as there didn’t seem to be a lot of external damage.
Things started getting a little odd with the introduction of netting over the pond. We placed the net to keep at bay the rampaging herons and curious cats that frequent our neck of the woods. Well, okay there was this one heron, but nevertheless it had to be done to protect the poor fishies. One beautiful morning as I’m getting ready to leave for work I notice a large leaf in the middle of the netting (the pond being about 25’ away from the back door). The leaf in question is clearly quite a heavy one as the netting sags noticeably in the middle. Curiosity aroused I step out to investigate.
Yep. It’s a toad. Face down he has his head wedged in the net. Passing over the awful embarrassment of being stuck in this predicament, the poor toad was simply awaiting a rather gruesome death as the sun comes over and bakes him from the toes up. I set to with a tiny pair of scissors (big ones would just take his head off in hands as dextrous as mine). These scissors it turns out would be seriously overshadowed by a good old slice from a piece of paper, so I ransack the house in the hope of finding something small enough to cut the tiny wires. Another pair of scissors materialises in the bathroom (I’m not sure why we have scalpel quality snippers in the bathroom, but I’m thankful). With much careful manoeuvring of blade against soft amphibian skin and with a mind on not getting slimed inadvertently, I free the fella from his predicament and traipse off to work with that warm glow in me once again.
After the second time this happened, we removed the netting. Fears of Wisp diving into the centre of the net and drowning in a frenzy of slashing claws and pitiful wailing was enough to cast away all doubts of a mass Heron influx in the garden.
The mornings seem to be a prime time for discovering the frog disasters in our little home. Our living room has a large corner sofa that I routinely perch myself upon whilst getting my shoes on. So as I start to dip my toes into the first shoe I look up and take in the weather for the day though the large patio doors. Just the other side of the doors is a small garden table, upon which is a large leaf…actually its more like a mass of leaves. A mass of leaves with little white bits of coloration. I stand up and look a little closer. Actually, it’s a large frog.
This frog doesn’t look too comfortable on his side, long legs splayed out and trail of blood and goo leaking from his wide lips down to the wooden surface. I open the doors and step over to see if there’s any hope for him. My expert eye can see no signs of life (and you have to be really diligent with some of these guys. They kinda suspend all movement and breathing akin to some sort of zen art) so I step inside and retrieve some kitchen towel. I wrap the frog up in his little Frog Death Shroud (grimacing as I half anticipate his head sticking to the table while the rest of him comes away – the bloody goo coming from his mouth a kind of epoxy resin – I sigh as he doesn’t even give a sloppy sound) and deposit him in the bin, moving off to work without the nice warm glow that usually accompanies my encounters with our amphibian neighbours.
So, to last night.
I am happily sitting in my study, the girlfriend reclining on the sofa downstairs when the round of shouting that commences a frog encounter greets my headphone shrouded ears. The wave of shouting moves from the cat to myself as usual and I stand up and move to the top of the stairs where Wisp is looking up at me, a frog hanging out of her jaws and my girlfriend poised behind.
Sandwiched between us, Wisp drops the frog and looks uncertain of what to do next. Does she grab it again and run. Or just run. As usual she looks a little perplexed as to why we (well, one of us) are shouting at her. After all she brought us this wonderful gift thereby displaying her highly developed hunting skills. The girlfriend removes all options by throwing Wisp into the spare bedroom and closing the door.
I sink to my knees in time honoured fashion preparing myself for the sliming to come. It looks a reasonable size and seriously gooey. As I put my hands around him, I make my first mistake by leaving a little gap between my thumb and forefinger. In all probability the trail of slime across the webbing of my hand is just in my mind, but nevertheless most disconcerting. The frog hops straight between my thighs and lands on the back of my foot where he is about to yack up inordinate amounts of goo. I shift and make a snatch for him throwing caution to the wind. He flips across the room in a mighty leap and fetches up against the skirting board. Taking a breather I reassess the situation (thereby making my second mistake of the evening). There is a one inch gap between the skirting board and the cabinet. He disappears before I can grab an outstretched leg. I look up with horror at the 31 gallon fish tank weighing down this cabinet. Checking the front, my suspicions are confirmed. The base is hollow but only accessible from the rear. I give a tentative push to the cabinet eliciting an ominous creak.
Taking a mighty risk (with a little prompting from my girlfriend. OK. She told me to do it), I move the cabinet 6 inches away from the wall. Not the lightest thing around I must say. Peering behind, I can see that the gap is a couple inches high and runs back the depth of the cabinet, about a foot. Images of the bloated monster frog drooling slime cannot be avoided at this point. Anyone that has seen Pans Labyrinth should understand but for the sake of clarity – an amphibian that has moved to a dark corner is obviously going to bloat to the size of a small dog, initiating a Tardis like effect and generating outstanding volumes of phlegm. I am therefore somewhat concerned about sticking my hand in and getting right royally slimed. But the girlfriend is still watching, so I madly put my head to the floor and peer in.
Yep. He’s gone to the far corner way out of arms reach. Which is a bonus I think to myself as I grab a 4 foot long piece of wood. I prise him out of the dark corner (half expecting the piece of wood to be stripped from my hands) and he moves with alarming rapidity straight towards me. I drop the stick and get my hands over him, carefully picking him up (feeling a serious amount of squirming and presumably sliming). Finally I transfer him to the pond and ensure all doors and windows are locked prior to letting Wisp back out (before she rips the carpet into bite size chunks).
A high pitched scream wakes me in the middle of the night. I instantly recognise it as a toad under the gentle ministrations of my cat. But the doors and windows are all locked so it can’t be. I lay back down but almost immediately the sound returns. Not something you want to leave for too long, as pieces of toad are unlikely to cheer oneself up first thing in the morning. I race downstairs still half asleep and not really believing that it can be another one.
(To be honest I had a thought that Wisp was feeling the effects of the slime and the high pitched whining was her arse as she poised over the litter tray).
Switching on the light in the living room I am greeted by a wide eyed Wispy and a small brown toad.
The interesting thing to note about Toads that have been jumped by a cat is that they curl both forelimbs over their heads, fingers splayed out (and I imagine a WWII helmet on their heads at this point) whilst they let out this piercing shriek (which I think of as a great “INCOMING” or “MEDIC”).
I gently remove Wisp and close the living room door. The toad is very easy to capture in his Toad Death Shroud and I move him to the pond where he lies completely inert. A gentle prod and the smell of slightly stagnant water gets his juices going again and he hops in.
This occurred at 3.30 and it must have taken me more than an hour to get back to sleep. The main reason I didn’t sleep well after this event was that I got to thinking. All doors and windows were locked. The toad was there. So I have a number of very disturbing futures to contend with.
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My cat has a secret stash of frogs/toads somewhere in the house
Now she has obviously been piling these guys up for some time, she could potentially be breeding them like some Saruman twisted creature, the Half Toad. This should retain the good size required to get your teeth into, but also have the sound effects when gently poked with a claw.
She may have realised that I am getting an expert on removing the toads quickly and efficiently and have created this stash to allow the production when we least expect it. Say middle of the night.
This scenario doesn’t concern me overly on account of the imminent arrival of babyBadger. The chances of Wisp finding a stretch of time where one of us (read the girlfriend) is not awake or near to the surface is somewhat remote.
However
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The Toads want In
So what if the toads/frogs (TF) have been working towards entering the house all along. They may have a secret way in, something that may have taken 30 years to excavate. The TF’s we’ve seen recently could have been the workforce caught in the act once the sun goes down. They could be seen as expendable by the master Toads and in fact are part of a great mythology handed down over generations. There is a reason why that frog on the table looked like a totemic sacrifice I reckon.
This is extremely disturbing and requires some more thought.