Little Frisky is my fish and he lives very happily in his very own fish bowl on my kitchen counter along with a partially submerged peace plant. Little Frisky didn't have a name until the Montana grandchildren were here last week and decided he needed a name. He was just THE FISH. OK, this is disgusting but it's the truth so here goes. Ginglebelle refuses to drink out of her fresh clean water bowl on the floor but she will risk breaking her neck to jump on the counter to drink out of the nasty fish bowl. The kids thought this was hysterical and decided THE FISH was seconds away from being cat food....so hence the name, Little Frisky. Well, Little Frisky and Ginglebelle have a good relationship. Ginglebelle jumps on the counter, Little Frisky heads to the bottom of the bowl, Ginglebelle gets a drink, jumps down and Little Frisky comes back to the top of the bowl. Now Morty enters the picture. Morty's legs are less than two inches long so jumping on the counter is not something I thought I would ever see him doing, until today. Morty discovered that if he climbs up the wicker chair leg to the back of the chair he can leap to the top of the bar (knocking my crystal wine glasses over) and then jump over to a bar stool which will put him inches from the kitchen counter. Life as Little Frisky knew it is now over. I walked into the kitchen just in time to see Morty sitting on his stubbly little back legs (like a rabbit) trying his best to catch Little Frisky with his front paws. The bar stools are now in the closet. Honest to goodness, I feel like I have a toddler in the house again.