You’re going to think I’m lying, but I have an eye-witness.
My friend Andris came over tonight for a visit, and when it came time for her to leave, Salem situated himself by the door so he could be the first one outside. Kindly, Andris opened the door for him as she and I said our goodbyes. On instinct I eye-balled the front porch and – sure enough – there was a fat frog sitting on the edge of the welcome mat. I squealed a little, which in frog language must mean, “Come right in!”
So he did. And I ran to the kitchen and hopped on the counter. Andris held open the door in uncertainty while from afar I watched the frog hop around on the tile, then to the carpet, then back to the tile and out the door.
I kept squealing and rubbing the invisible frogs off my legs while Andris laughed and said, “I think I need a tissue. I guess he had to go.”
“What do you mean he had to go? He peed?”
“The frog just peed on my tile?”
She could barely answer me in her laughter, and the giggling continued as she cleaned up the frog pee on my behalf. I told her she is to bear witness to this event because no one would believe me otherwise.
The frogs are plotting and now I have my proof.