So there we were, Graham and I, the ace petcare duo.
We'd just dosed our neighbours' cat with her medicine (definately a two-person job: me on restraint and mouth opening, Graham on firing the tablets), I was filling her bowl and Graham (who always gets the best jobs) was in the garden cleaning out the litter tray. And it was raining, which could be why Graham found a great big frog by the tray. Knowing that I love frogs, he called me out to see it. But on the way back in I spotted a tiny frog that hopped into the kitchen just in front of me. I called for the trowel, but Graham must have been humming away happily to himself, since he didn't hear me. By the time he was back in, the froglet had taken refuge under the fridge freezer. I tried to get it out (using a long stick) but no joy.
When we got home, guess what was waiting on our doorstep? Yes, another frog (this one quite gigantic). Happily it hopped gardenwards, rather than in to the house.
Three hours later and the rain has stopped. I've just been back to see whether I can get the froglet outside but, no luck, it is still under the fridge. (I'm so glad the neighbours keep their floor clean, I've had to lie flat on my tum to do the searching).
As my poor mother once remarked "I don't know where I've gone wrong, what with you and your passion for frogs, and your sister and her creepy crawlies!"