Frog Pancakes With Worms on The Side

Well, I guess my middle cat (AngelBoy) has forgiven me for having the new fence installed. Not only has he learned that he must ring those purple bells at the breakfast room door instead of the laundry room door if he wants to go out, but he has rewarded me with gifts.

Last night, he came into the house via the screen-porch, sat there on the tiles near the sofa in the breakfast room, opened his silver-gray white-whiskered mouth and out popped a tiny frog. I looked down at the little green frog and tried not to cringe, and AngelBoy's blue eyes looked up at me with love and affection. "Here, mom, look at what I brought you!"

Wonderful. While I stroked AngelBoy's head and listened to him purr, ShadowBaby (the youngest cat) ran into the breakfast room and scooped up the frog and ran with it into the living room. Under the coffee table he went, and as he opened his mouth, out popped the frog. The frog tried to get away and ShadowBaby's paw slapped down on top of it.

While this was going on, AngelBoy sat by the breakfast room door, jiggling the purple velvet star to make the little bells ring. He wanted to go out. So thrilled was I that he had quickly learned to ring those bells on a different door, I opened the breakfast room door and followed him to the screen-porch door and let him out into the yard.

Back into the living room I went, armed with a plastic Tupperware bowl-- great device for catching frogs in the house and then releasing them outside. Of course, by that time, the frog was no longer under the coffee table. ShadowBaby's little cat-body was sticking half-way out from underneath the living room sofa. Didn't take a rocket-scientist to figure out where the frog was. Only problem... how to move the sofa so its legs didn't end up crushing the frog. Which I have done before-- not a pretty sight. Bad enough when a car runs over a frog outside and there are frog pancakes in the middle of the road. And those are really gross, because by the time the frogs get big enough to be traveling on the sidewalks and roads, seeing one flattened-out can just about make a city-girl cry. And a frog pancake in the middle of your living room doesn't exactly make your day.

Before I could move the sofa, however, ShadowBaby backed himself out from underneath the sofa. His mouth was shut tight, which meant that the frog was in there. Perfect. I grabbed ShadowBaby, picked him up and held him at arm's length, with his face pointing away from me. I figured if he opened his mouth and the frog popped out, I didn't want it ending up on my blouse. Into the screen-porch I went. I put ShadowBaby down and then closed the breakfast room door so he couldn't get back into the house with the frog. I left it up to the frog to find its way out of the porch via the wood slats of the deck.

Problem solved. Or so I thought. No sooner had I sat down on the sofa in the breakfast room with my book... and who do I see with his face pressed up against the breakfast room windows? AngelBoy. He wanted to come back inside. You have to be a true cat-person to understand all of this, I'm sure. Out the breakfast room door I went... through the porch... and I let AngelBoy in the screen-door. Through the porch and into the breakfast room he pranced.... he sat himself down on the tile floor... opened up his mouth.... and out popped a small brown worm.

Okay... I can deal with the little lizards and the baby frogs. Worms are another story. They slither so quickly you don't know which way they're going to go. And lose a garden-worm in the house for a few months and you could end up with a garden-snake curled up behind the washing machine or underneath a sofa.

Of course, my husband wasn't home from work yet. That worm had to be caught and caught ASAP. How to catch a worm.... think fast... think fast... think FAST! Into the kitchen I went... back into the breakfast room I came... armed with the long squeeze-y tong-things that you use for the BBQ when you're grilling hot dogs. The tongs were nearly two-feet in length. Long enough to give a good distance between my skin and that worm.

AngelBoy was still guarding the worm on the breakfast room floor. Every time the worm tried to escape, he'd put his little paw on it. "Stay, you fool worm! Stay!" There I was with the tongs, talking to AngelBoy and telling him what a brave cat he was, thanking him for the worm as I used the tongs to pick it up. Yuck... I can cringe now as I think of having to squeeze the tongs and keep them squeezed so I wouldn't drop the worm as I walked through the breakfast room, through the kitchen, through the laundry room, out the back door and into the breeze-way. I just stood there and tossed the tongs down the driveway.... they clattered and bounced as they hit the concrete, and I stood there by the back door to give the worm some lead time so he could slither away from the tongs.

I must have looked like an idiot... walking slowly on tip-toe down my driveway, picking up the tongs with two fingers and holding them at arm's length as I threw the tongs into the trash can. So grossed-out that I couldn't even think about just washing those tongs. Better to just get new ones.
When my husband came home from work and asked me how my evening was, I told him that I hoped he hadn't planned on grilling hot dogs anytime soon.