(Sticky Feet himself)
Two years passed, in which time my mothers two cats both died of old age, and my little brother got one who he named Mighty to compensate for the lost of his favorite. I was six years old at that point and in first grade, still just as interested in frogs and the outdoors as much as id ever been.
I had even earned the name “frog boy” at my school due to my blatant admiration for the energetic amphibian. What solidified this title was the fact that I finally had a slippery companion of my own.
I had gotten a Whites leaf frog for my seventh birthday in February and named him Sticky Feet. Sticky Feet was unlike any frog I had ever known before. He was extremely friendly and loved the vacuum. He was not afraid of the cats and even became so brave that he jumped on Bigadoo, scaring the feline senseless.
One day before school I entered the kitchen to consume a massive breakfast and wish Sticky Feet a good day. When I peered into the cage to do so, I noticed that he wasn’t there. School that day was not good for I was too focused on my frog rather than my studies. I looked for him after school that day and the following two, but still no luck.
On the third day of the search my dad called me into his bathroom. There on the shower wall was my valued companion. He had scaled two floors from the kitchen to my parent’s bathroom on the top floor.
I continued to have adventures like this with him escaping from his inescapable cage until finally three years later when he never came back. He, like Fred received a full funeral service in the garden along side our fallen cats.
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