Dr. Harold B. Frog, Psychiatrist: Therapy is in Session

Harold is a stickler for routine and begins every day the exact same way; sunrise toad-chi in the park followed by an intense game of leap with his personal trainer. After a hot shower, he reads the Amphibian Times at his kitchen table over a swamp latte and bowl of Locusts & Oats. Then he dresses in his crisp, freshly ironed collared shirt, neatly tucked under his favorite sweater vest, and walks down his circular staircase through the french doors to his home office. Sitting at his desk, he checks his schedule for the day.

“Ohhhhh, this one’s a doozy!” he croaks under his breath.

Harold has a few pre-client rituals; he does some deep breathing exercises and reads from the affirmations app on his flyPhone:

I am enough.

I belong here and deserve to take up space.

I am calm.

Grabbing his client files, he sits in the armchair next to a long chaise lounge and reviews his notes. In preparation for his first client, he shoves two pieces of tissue up his nose as far as he can.

10 am: Melvin Skunk

“Hello, Melvin,” Harold said in a nasal voice.

“Hey, doc!" Melvin replied in his drippy southern drawl, laying back on the chaise lounge, "Still strugglin' with that nose problem?”

“Ummmm...yessss... Enough about me, let's talk about you. Tell me, how are you feeling?”

“Well, aah was doin' mighty good this mornin', walkin' along feelin' preeeetty happy. Suddenly, aah noticed everyone runnin' to the other side of the street, pluggin' their noses! Then aah remembered... MAH LIFE STANKS!”

“How did that make you feel?” Harold replied.

“AAAAH WAS FUMIN'!” Melvin shouted. "Pun ain't intended," he added quietly.

“What did you do with that anger?” Harold asked.

“Aah ran down the road sprayin' everything aah laid eyes on!”

“Did that make you feel... better?”

“Temporarily!”

“Melvin, do you remember the mantras you are supposed to say before you become hysterical?”

“Yessir.”

“Did you say them?”

“Nosir… Aah screamed them as aah sprayed everythin' in mah path!” Melvin replied, deliriously.

“Melvin, we’ve discussed this,” Harold said, peering over his bifocals.

"Aah know, doc, Aa'm a faaailuuuure!" Melvin cried.

This session went on for another hour. Melvin always talked longer than his allotted time. When he left, Harold spritzed his favorite Lilly of the Pond room spray, masking any lingering skunk aroma.

11:30 am: Carmine Cockroach

Carmine has so many woes that he intentionally tried to get squashed by the lady at the dry cleaners. She hit him with an iron but he walked away unscathed…much to his dismay.

"Carmine, tell me, how are you feeling?"

"I’m tiad a bein' misundastood!" Carmine unloaded in his thick New York accent, "All I want is ta grab a bite a dinna, just a slice, wit-out the health depaaatment bein' called! I’m banned from every bodega on da east coast! I hate when humanoids scream, tryna kill me usin' an entia bottle of BugBeGone! Don't they know I love da smella-dat stuff? Why can’t they treat me like dat stuuuupid buttafly? They always say nice things 'bout her- tryn' to get her to land on their fingah! God forbid I try dat! Rah-gawdless, she’s a bug...EXACTLY... LIKE... ME!”

"Carmine, I'll refill your script, just one nibble of the pill daily...and uh, try that bodega on Broadway- Health Department gave them a C, you'll definitely be able to get in there," Harold said as he scribbled on his prescription pad.

"Thanks, doc, you're a yuuuge help!"

12:30 pm: Sylvester Shark

Sylvester, wearing an antique scuba helmet filled with ocean water, was wheeled into the office on a furniture dolly by a cohort of crabs.

"Sylvester, tell me, how are you feeling?"

“Upthet!" Sylvester blubbered, his lispy voice echoing inside his helmet, "I juth want to play beath ball with the kidth, and thuuuurf and thwiiiim. But noooo, their parenth freeeeak-out! They thee me coming and thcream, ‘THARK! Thwim for your liveth!’ I’ve only nibbled off two toeth in my life and no one hath forgiven me for it."

"Thlvester, *cough* I mean, Sylvester, have you considered playing with other...sharks?" Harold replied, handing Sylvester a tissue.

“Ohhh, I thoud try that!" Sylvester sniffled, enlightened, as his tissue dissolved in the water, "Thankth, doc, I feel tho much better!”

1:30 pm: Pandora Cat

Pandora waltzed through the door and before Harold could get a word out, she began her pretentious, manic rampage.

“Humans, acting so high and mighty, abusing their power, controlling when and where I eat! Can you even hunt, human? Paaaathetic! Let me teach you...here’s a DEAD MOUSE in your shoe! Oh, you like that leather couch? How do you like it NOW, with the stuffing coming out of it!?!? That glass on the counter would look soooo much better on the floor... in a million pieces, youuuu self-righteous… Oh, your guest has allergies? Good! How about I rub my body all over their pillow before they sleep? Just worship me and I won’t destrooooy you!"

She kept on until Harold had no choice but to interrupt.

“Pandora... you need anger management. Here’s a card for my colleague, Darla, the Dove with the big office on Park Avenue. I’m sorry to say, but I can no longer see you until you complete her course.” Harold said firmly.

Harold has been trying to find a way to get rid of Pandora. From time to time he’s noticed her staring at him unnervingly while licking her chops.

Pandora leapt off the couch and left without a word, but as she walked down the street she could be heard saying, “That idiot has no respect for the cat kingdom.”

Harold saw a few more clients before the end of the day: Idmon Spider, Roosevelt Raccoon, Medusa Snake, and a famous Coyote, who shall remain nameless for his protection. By 6:00 pm Harold was ready for his own therapy session. He poured himself a bourbon and croak, picked up his flyPhone, and dialed…

“Hello, Harold, darrrling!”

“Hi, Mom!”