Roasted Toad

Woe unto those who anger me during the period of time in which I am assigning animals for my "creative journaling." The object of my wrath shall now forever be immortalized in my mind as a slimy, worthless toad.

The ocelot prowled along the riverbank, it's tail whisking to and fro in obvious irritation. The more it was allowed to ponder, the more it's temper worsened. It was its usual ritual to wake before the sunrise and walk along the river, perhaps even to swim. But today the routine did not calm the ocelot as it usually did. For on this morn, the ocelot had one thought in its mind. The toad was a liar. The toad had broken its promise again. This time the ocelot would not show mercy. This time the ocelot would tear the toad limb from limb with its claws. You see, this time the toad had not just disrespected the ocelot by breaking its promise, but the ocelot's mother had been disrespected as well. Gleaming teeth were shown as the ocelot curled its lips in disdain. The toad would die with the dawn.

The ocelot heard a wet flop off to its right. The tall grasses rustled with movenment. The cat crouched low. After a moment more, a lumpy green toad with a sickly palor to its face tumbled out of the grass, looking frantic. It knew it was on the ocelot's list. Its eyes searched quickly before it hopped for the river, but the ocelot was quick. It sprang on the toad, pinning it to the ground. The toad protested adamantly, but the ocelot did not listen. Its temper was raging by now. It flicked the toad into the air and batted it hard as it plummeted back to the earth. It hit the unforgiving bank with a satisfying thud, but in desparation it scrambled away before the ocelot struck another blow. It did not matter to the ocelot. It knew where the toad lived, where the toad slept. And the ocelot would make the toad's life as miserable as possible for as long as it could.