He’d made quite a large mistake.
The crow had fallen head-over-heels for a frog. He wasn’t quite sure how. He was quite aware of the biological obstacles that prevented them from ever being together but when he thought of her, her dark smooth skin that glistened with mucus, his heart melted. So he sat in a bush and did his best bullfrog noises. Cree, cree, he croaked. She never seemed to look at him.
The cat was confused at the sounds the crow was making but figured it wouldn’t change the taste much, so she pounced, striking a swift blow. As she carried off his limp body, one last “cree” escaped from his beak.
The frog sat on her lily-pad and wept.