Attack of the zombie frog...
Ensconced within the comfort of my sofa, a plate of freshly heated food upon my lap and a yawn in my stomach. Hands rubbed together and I'm ready to eat.

A forkful of food poised by my eager chops and the sometime third resident burst in from the garden and trotted, show-horse like into the living room.

There was something odd about the way he padded across the room, head held back and a dark blot obscuring his mouth that raised my suspicions. Sure enough he confirmed my concerns as he deposited the dead frog at my feet.

*brilliants*

Food at hand, a dead frog at feet and my stomach shuts itself with a refusal to accept its gifts. The cadaver must be removed before dinner, there's no doubt about that.

"thank you old friend, your gifts are heartfelt, but oh so misguided, now scamper back to the garden and don't darken these doors again (for a bit)." The cat duly obliged, with some gentle, foot related encouragement.

A tentative touch, followed by a more thorough examination confirms that it was indeed an ex-frog and up he was scooped for transportation to his final resting place.

The hand hearse passed first through the open door and into the cool evening air. A twitch from the deceased amphibian was swiftly followed by a desperate face-bound lunge and your 'heroic' narrator lets fly with a shriek so girly the neighbours rushed to their window, bursting with concern.

"It's a fucking zombie frog" was all I could muster before embarrassment forced me back into the depths of the house, where my dinner was growing cold and my shame still very warm.

I'd moved house before I'd lived it down.
( Moey, Fri 4 Jul 2008, 14:23, Reply)