by A.K. Meek
***
The ambient lighting in Tim’s apartment automatically dimmed to match the afternoon setting of the sun. The long work day had ended and Tim had rushed home to take the necessary first step. His head rested on his hands that rested on the counter, about a foot from the toad.
Light tan with dark brown splotches. Wrinkled, warty skin that bulged in odd places. The toad stood on the counter, legs bowed under its weight, one wide eye focused on Tim’s looming head.
He stared, studying the toad for at least 15 minutes. He read the box again. ‘Put a drop of fluid (saliva or blood) in its mouth’. His stomach quivered at the sentence. Blood was out of the question. It would have to be saliva.
Tim took in a breath, held it, and reached for the toad. When he felt the bumpy, dry skin he pulled his hand back. He started breathing again. What kind of owner can’t stand touching their Menagerie?
Committed, Tim grabbed the toad and lifted it from the counter. The legs dangled, and it gave a small chirp in protest.
“I guess if you’re going to be my Menagerie I need to name you,” Tim said. He turned the toad in his hand, examining the amphibian from every angle. He lifted it high and looked at its underside. “I guess you’re a male. I hope you’re a boy. That narrows down my choices by fifty-percent.”
He put the toad back on the counter. “You look like a... Glen. Your name is Glen. Now let’s get this over with.”
Tim rubbed his tongue against his teeth, building up saliva. He put the tip of his index finger into his mouth and withdrew a moistened fingertip. Next, he put his finger to the mouth of Glen, but it was clamped shut. He pressed his finger against Glen and the toad slid backwards, but his mouth still didn’t open. Tim put his free hand over the toad’s head and lightly pressed. Glen’s mouth opened, and his tongue came out. Like lightning, Tim shoved his wet finger in the open mouth then as quickly pulled it out.
Immediately Glen’s body swayed, and his little legs buckled. His bulbous body collapsed onto the counter, open eyes glazed over. Tim poked the still body and saw it rise and fall. The toad was still alive. He put Glen in the Acme box and went to the bathroom to start his nightly routine.
***
The next day Tim checked on Glen before heading to work. The toad remained unresponsive.
Through the day, his imagination drifted, thinking he would open his apartment door to magistrates waiting to arrest him, a dead Menagerie on his counter.
After work he rushed home, but Glen still didn’t stir.
The second step said to wait 24 hours. Maybe it took longer for toads. Tim went to the bathroom to start his nightly routine.