MY FRIEND'S TOADS

My friend used to raise toads in a basin here at my house. Two toads, three, ten toads after a year. The critters knew him, spread their legs, got excited when he showed up. I only asked him to move the basin out of the living room. My friend wasn't thrilled, thought it was discriminatory. Why could the cats stay and not the toads? So he moved it to the backyard.

His love for the creatures was touching. Part of me wanted to send them all to hell, but I held back. One of them hopped out of the basin, leaped into the bushes, and I sneakily scooped it up with a shovel — gotcha — and carried it off to wherever the wind curved around. The next day, the guy was back in the basin. My friend would count them, one, two, three… ten, and find his peace.

Until he had to leave for Recife, my dear friend left an emptiness in the house and the basin in the backyard. Nothing would have stopped me from sending that whole population off to the distant pond, but... those toads he loved — out of respect for that love, I let the guys stay.

Eventually the water in the basin dried up, and reluctantly they all went off into the world. But to this day, three still live in the house, between the bathroom and the kitchen, waiting for their friend's return… who now raises seven cats in a box.