How did you find your way onto my second story porch, mysterious toad? Were you uncomfortable, squished between the bottom of the plastic pot and the soil, or did you mean to hole up there?
I found you, impersonating a wet kleenex; I poked you, and unlike a wet kleenex, you recoiled. Then you were still as a stone (or a wet kleenex), unblinking. I suspected the worst, but thought it only fair to give you a chance, since it was me who destroyed your little house. The pot went back over your home, this time bottom up, so that if you were just cold, you could escape when you recovered.
Today, you are gone! Bye-bye, mysterious toad!