The object was a tiny frog, so thoroughly dried that its remains had become almost unrecognizable.
When I carefully picked it up, its brittle body seemed ready to crumble between my fingers.
What I had mistaken for something sinister was simply a small animal that had died and become mummified.
My cat was nearby, but nothing established how the frog had reached the bathroom or what had happened to it.
Relief came first, followed by an unexpected sadness.
The strange shape no longer suggested danger; it was all that remained of a creature whose presence I had never noticed while it was alive.
After cleaning up and washing my hands, I looked around the bathroom. Everything appeared ordinary again.
Still, the discovery lingered—not because the mystery was entirely solved,
but because something so fragile had briefly made a familiar room feel different, even after every visible trace was gone.
