"A happy frog"

We have a hobo. He doesn't ask us for food, but he manages to scrounge up enough grub around the yard. And so far, he's never made a peep.

I suspect this is a Cuban tree frog, and for whatever reason, he has decided a window in the master bedroom (still covered by a hurricane shutter because my husband says he likes how it makes the room dark) is his home. He showed up a couple weeks ago.

At first, he was a novelty. Our whole family -- heck, even our cats -- would check him out every day.

I don't think he moved a single toepad for a week.

When he started looking skinny, I got worried.

"That frog is going to die there!" I told my husband. "What if he's stuck and can't get out?"

"He can get out if he wants," my husband assured me.

One day, the frog changed position.

The next day, he was gone.

I was relieved he'd finally moved on.

Two days later, though, he was back again -- and kind of fat.

"That's a happy frog," my husband said.

I don't know how you can tell when a frog is happy. If he wants to stay, fine. But he better not die stuck to my bedroom window.


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