Cody sat crossways on her chair resting her back on one armrest and her legs over the other.  She spun lazily back and forth, her computer blank and her mind wandering, pushing off the edge of her desk with her legs.

As she drifted from side to side, she took in the familiar sights. The sides of the one-room apartment were lined with boxy, white furniture, and most of the remaining wall space was covered in mementos; slightly crumpled sheets of lined paper with the unintentionally artistic works of her friends and pictures of interesting objects or people, all pinned tastefully distant from each other so as not to feel crowded. As she floated towards the left, her gaze passed over the door to the hallway in one corner, and the humble kitchenette in the other. Swinging back over to the right, she passed the twin size mattress that sat on the floor, finally reaching the empty corner of the room that was still awaiting the purpose that would fit it perfectly. The small size of the room made a central table impractical, so the tan carpeted floor was visible and empty.

At least it usually was. Now, passing by the center of the room, she saw a small object like a pair of olive drab socks she had balled up and thrown haphazardly onto the floor, although she did not remember doing so. Focusing her eyes on it more, the smooth, ovular shape appeared to be less uniform in color, with some parts of its generally yellow-green surface blended dark gray like old driftwood, and others with an almost terracotta undertone. The increasingly visible ridges that ran from end to end were unusually large for the tight knit of socks, and the crevices that zig-zagged across the larger end seemed in an unlikely pattern for fabric to fold. Curious, she focused her eyes completely. As she finally saw through its camouflage, Cody started at the realization that there was a frog on her living room floor.

“Wh-... How did you get in here?” She thought to herself, now more taken by the novelty of the situation. She had heard of bizarre stories of hailstones the size of cantaloupes with small animals stuck inside them, but she suspected that even a small hailstorm in the marine climate of seattle was somehow less likely than the unexplained appearance of of an amphibian in a fourth story apartment a mile away from the nearest substantial wetland.

Her mind wandered toward elaborate fantasies of the frog’s daring and deliberate escapade, stealthily climbing its way up window sills and fire escapes before slipping into her living room though some unseen crack in the wall. Or maybe crawling its way to her room through forty-five feet of downspout. But staring into its unblinking eyes, it was hard to imagine that it had the mind to do anything but stand or jump, and although it was currently choosing the former, it gave every impression of having the wherewithal to scamper off into the corner at her slightest movement.

After a moment more of amusement, cody resolved that how the frog got into her apartment was second to how she would get it out. Slowly, she took off her headphones and placed them on her desk. Picking herself up on the armrests of her chair, she gingerly set her feet, toes first, on the carpet. Now, she needed to decide what type of predator she would be. Her first instinct was ambush. Strike quickly before it even has a chance to react. Although sure she had already been spotted, she figured it was worth a shot. She could resort to pursuit if the need arose. She was now completely on the ground and ready to pounce. Taking a final second to predict where the frog was likely to jump, she shifted her weight back and lunged forward.

The frog was fleeting and methodical. It sprung away from Cody’s hands well before they could close in on it. Every time she made another motion towards it, the frog would find a comfortably distant spot to jump to. Its movements, while decidedly hasty, seemed to carry a tone of indifference, as if the frog was only escaping because it was the thing to do, not because it was in any real danger.

After multiple cycles of rapid pursuits and silent standoffs, the frog finally fell prey to the unfamiliar terrain. Cody’s careful positioning had coaxed it into jumping into a corner between the dresser and the wall, leaving it no easy options for escape.

Slowly and steadily, Cody reached forward and extended her open hand, holding her breath and hoping with all her being that the frog would not have the mind to jump back into the fray. When her palm could almost touch the skin cool, smooth skin, she began to reach her other hand forward, being careful not to lose focus on the hand keeping the creature contained. At last, both hands were in position, and she slid one gently under the frog’s fragile belly, carefully cupping the other over its back to keep it from fleeing. When she felt she had gotten a hold, she tightened her grip, and released a wave of breath..

“Listen , pal,” she said to herself, musing at her own sense of humor “you don’t have to go home, but ya’ sure can’t stay here.”