Mister Froad, who had been Miss Purr's beau, a few years ago started a dalliance with Louise the Cow, which went nowhere, but convinced the poor beast that he was a "Player". Since then the amphibian has been without a relationship. And, because he flipped when the monkey teased him about his gas problem, he's not been quite sane.
Currently he is fixated on the she-sheep. Who is in a very warm relationship with the giant black spider with two large and lovely blue eyes, Pierpont.
A very decent fellow who looks, to the crazed amphibian, very crab-like.
"If I eat her boyfriend, I can be her boyfriend!"
It is a novel idea, though I am sure some of our early hominid ancestors thought the same way. Not, however, an idea which can realistically float among civilized society, and all the other roomies have promised to whack him if he even comes close to our beloved arachnid house-mate.
So there is high drama at present. Fuzzy high drama.
Coupled with passionate hunger.
And angry sounds.
All of this mostly issuing from my apartment mate's room where she has retired for the night, though occasionally I utter squawks of outrage too.
Mister Froad has offered to share, hoping that this will bring us all around to his way of thinking.
It will not work. Decent people do not use mayonnaise on friends.
Or savoury garlic and black bean sauce.
I do not wish to hear anymore.
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