We have been sacked.
All those hours spent frog-watching, often at night, as well as all those hours spent frogspawn-gazing, and what happens?
She decides she's not having a pond any more.
She was very dramatic about it. "Three frogs in the sitting room in one week!" So? Isn't that our job, fetching frogs to amuse her?
"What if all that frog spawn hatches? Tiny frogs would never survive being carried in like that!" Well, we could eat them, I suppose. The big ones aren't nice to eat; we have to clamp them tightly in our jaws, and drop them when they're safely indoors. That's what she seems to object to the most; frogs hiding under the bookshelves and cupboards.
Millie says it was the same in Newcastle with the field mice. No appreciation of our efforts.
It's tiresome.
Rachel writes: Three large frogs in as many days, one rather too bulky for the cartoon cat to carry without damaging it slightly. Little froglets wouldn't stand a chance, and the constant vigilance required on all sides - cats and mine - is nerve-racking. Much as I love the cats, I can't bear to see small creatures tormented by them, no matter how instinctual and natural this might be.
So the frog spawn has gone to a neighbour's pond, and the pond itself - small and ugly, and on the list for upgrading - is to be filled in instead. There will be nature-friendly plants introduced in its place. No argument.
Scooter will no doubt continue to bring live frogs indoors, but at least I'll know I didn't provide him with the source.
