WEEK ONE: A frog misplaced

What the heck was I looking at, anyway?  The weirdest creature to cross my kitchen floor in a long while was shuffling clumsily across the tiles – some kind of furry bundle that was half-amphibian and half-laundry lint.  I crouched down and discovered a brown tree frog encased within a shroud of debris.  The poor fellow looked like he had gotten in a fight with a squadron of dust bunnies and lost.  Its sticky toes had acquired enough fuzz and hair to create a woolen vest for itself, along with matching legwarmers.  Even an armored pillbug had gotten trapped in the frog’s fluffy coattails and was being dragged along like a child in a sled.

I apologized for the unswept floors as I carried the frog to the sink and rinsed away the accumulated lint.  I suppose I had allowed conditions to become somewhat dingy during my final week at the cabin, but my mind had been increasingly directed towards the summer and my upcoming travels.  Carefully, I set my amphibious visitor outside the front door, knowing that with a few more hours of packing, I’d be ready to follow.

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