Posted by: Kristy | August 24, 2009

My living room is scheduled as the set of “Saw VI”

My apartment was the scene of a disaster tonight.

It was tragic. Oh, so tragic.

Chatting gaily with The Boy, I drop my purse by the door and kick off my shoes in the middle of the living room as I make my way eagerly to the kitchen to see my children.

And by children I mean my pet frog, Pete, and fish, Philippe 2.0. They’ve been with me nearly a year, a feat I never thought was possible. It’s been so nice these past 10 months to have living, breathing organisms other than myself in that apartment. We all know how I dote on Pete. He’s so cute. He’s so spunky. He does such funny tricks. He has such a pronounced personality for a 1-inch frog with limited brain function.

Never mind the fact that he becomes slightly cannibalistic at times when he’s feeling most ornery. Or when I’ve been gone for more than four days and he has a rumbly in his tumbly. When THAT happens, well, clearly he is not responsible for the way his animal instinct takes over. As I unfortunately discovered when I approached the fishbowl, my tongue-in-cheek “Hey, guys! Everyone still alive?” fading into a terrified squeal.

“Oh my God! Philippe 2.0 is dead! He’s dead.”

“What? Are you sure?” comes from the other end of the phone.

Let’s see. Motionless fish. Drained of colour. Beginning to decompose. Yep, I’m sure.

Wait, he’s not starting to decompose. No, it looks like …

“Ewwwww. He’s been disemboweled!!!!”

Pete hid under his bridge, refusing to come out and own up to his perverse actions. The harder I tapped on the bowl exclaiming, “Pete! What did you do? Look at what happened!” the more he burrowed his pointed little nose into the gravel, legs flailing and pebbles flying over Philippe 2.0’s gross corpse.

So I carried the entire bowl to the bathroom and used the net to fish out the deceased, squealing and moaning the entire time as The Boy laughed at my pain.

“Eww, this is so gross. I can’t look. His guts are hanging out. Ew, I CAN’T LOOK.”

Pete had to sit there the entire time, watching me fling his bowlmate into the commode as I lectured him to think about what he had done.

“I am not buying you a new fish, mister. You are just going to have to be an only child and when you get lonely you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Calling for a moment of silence from the other end of the telephone, I began humming Taps, completing the burial at sea to the harmony of my humming and The Boy’s hardcore laughter, where I could tell he was laughing so hard he was crying. When I was finished the only response he had was, “Oh, God, I think that was the funniest moment in our relationship so far. You’re so weird.”

Which is his loving way of saying that I’m adorable and eccentric, I’m sure.

Regardless, I have failed once more as a pet owner. Guess it’s going to be a while before I get the wiener dog named Earnie. Or before I have children.

My grandmother said Pete was totally justified in his actions since I hadn’t been home in four days to feed them. She said, and I quote, “Oh, poor Pete!”

Poor Pete? Poor Pete! THE FROG ATE HIS FRIEND.

Again, I should have seen this coming.

The culprit. If this were a game of "Clue" my guess would be Pete the Frog, in the kitchen with the lead pipe.

The culprit. If this were a game of "Clue" my guess would be Pete the Frog, in the kitchen with the lead pipe.

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Responses

  1. ewww… and also hahahaha! you crack me up, and so does pete. poor philippe 2.0!

  2. Dur…. what did you THINK would happen if you’re NEVER home?!! :p lol. You crack me up kid.


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