Perched on the edge of the windowsill, I adjusted my little stage, claws—or okay, paws—twitching with the precision of a chaos commander. Today was the day. THE. DAY. The humans had been all soft and mushy lately, and I could smell it in the air: vanilla, honey, and a subtle hint of impending disaster disguised as sweetness. My mission? Document, direct, and dominate this theatrical moment of human stupidity… I mean, romance.
I arranged the frogs. Tiny, green, slightly slimy, but perfect actors. One frog, the hero, would kneel. Another, the human-representative, would swoon. I tapped my tiny paw, making sure the spotlight (the morning sun streaming through the window) hit the stage at exactly 37.4 degrees. Perfection.
I squeaked in approval. "Yes… yes… this is dramatic tension at its finest. Every alpha, every omega, every chaotic emotion… captured."
