I would just like to be very clear, O best beloved, about this frog in my toilet. Sorry. His toilet. We had a toilet, O my friends and friends of my friends, but alas, it is no more. Kermit the Crapaud is back, which means the dry season is definitely on its way.
Most Trinis will be familiar with the small flying frogs which live in toilets. Bedecked in jewel green or butter yellow, these inch-long babies croak with very loud voices, terrifying foreign visitors and hiding in tiny damp places during the dry season.
Our frog is not one of these. True, he has very pretty turquoise green/peacock blue toes, and he can change colour from a deep terecotta floor tile red to a sickly almost-toilet-white. He does not croak loudly, which should make him a fine houseguest.
But... He is large. Four or five inches of frog, with his long toes stretched out on display. And he truly believes that anyone who sits on the toilet is trespassing on his private property. He has an extensive range of dirty looks: he is the only frog I know to have raised an eyebrow at me. Putting him out is pointless. Like an emigrate, he comes back every dry season. He knows the way home. He craps decisively into the toilet, which I am grateful for, but the toilet will never be clean again until June and the rain. I clean around him, and he swims crossly down the bend to escape the cleaner and brush, and then swims back up after I have flushed. Then he craps again, a large sinking sticky blob of insect bits and ick. This Crapaud is FULL of crap.