Froggy's fled

After providing months of slimy companionship, he’s gone. No more does he crouch in the sink, in the slats of the dishrack, or atop the water filter. He’s abandoned his home in the decorative plaster blocks in the wall between my kitchen and dining room. 

I never thought I’d actually miss the frog. And I’m not sure I miss him. (Since I don’t know how to identify the sex of frogs, I’m simply calling it a him.) But I miss the anticipation I felt before entering my kitchen. Where would he be today? Sometimes I didn’t even notice him until I went to fill my water filter. I would often recoil upon discovering a warty green amphibian perched atop the shiny metal lid.   

I also miss the tenacity of that spring-legged creature. I dumped him out of my house almost daily, yet he returned almost as often, determined to claim my home as his own.

That’s what frogs of his sort do, my Khmer teacher said. They seek out cool (temperatured) houses as their own during the dry —and therefore hot — season.  They don’t like the heat.

This kind of frog was harmless, my teacher said. It wouldn’t hurt me, and since it was the inedible kind, I shouldn’t hurt it either. Darn. I've always wanted to fry up my own frog dinner.  

Catching him would have been easy enough. Aside from his nighttime retreats to my yard and his leaps to safety when his hind legs were prodded, my frog didn’t move much. He mostly just sat hunched in his nook in the concrete blocks.

Despite my near-constant surveillance, I never saw him eat anything, either. Why wasn’t his long pink tongue darting out for flies —or better yet, mosquitoes — like in cartoons?

So I couldn’t eat him, he didn’t move much and he wasn’t catching any bugs — he was pretty much useless.

All I ever got out of the bumpy beast were the crumbly black turds left in the blocks and on my kitchen counter.

But those turds are (mostly) gone now, and so is he. The rainy — and therefore cool — season is here, and I assume he’s out enjoying the weather with the chorus of croakers I hear each night.

I’m glad my frog’s gone, but I can’t help wondering if he’ll be back next dry season. And if he can’t come, I hope he sends an edible relative in his place.