You know that lovely little mediterranean tree frog whose photo I took a week or so ago? the sweet little green fellow peeking out from a flower pot one early morning?
Just found him on the stairs on my way to bed this evening... He didn't look quite the same, he was a funny brown colour.... and whether that's a kind of camouflage effect (the tiles inside the house and on the stairs are ruddy-brick-red) or whether it was the result of being indoors and losing his natural pigment, who knows? (If you know, save me the GOOGLE time!)
So either it was the same one, or another very close relative (perhaps the equivalent of the black sheep in the family), but there he was, and both of us were startled, and one of us was deeply alarmed. His reaction was to jump under the bookshelves at the top of the stairs. Mine, was to try to figure out how to get him outside again... not that I would be fearful of having a frog in the house, but I'd feel awful finding his dead little body some day under or behind some piece of furniture.
It took some time, but eventually I devised a clever system involving a tea strainer and the New York Review of Books, and using these two implements scooped him up and got him out the door. This did not happen as easily as it might sound, there were a few near-misses and some terrifying moment for the frog...
But just as the bell over at the Mairie was ringing ten chimes to mark the hour, Mr. Frog and I parted company, and I told him, as nicely as I could, to clear out and not come back.
Dear Reader: Should I have kissed him?