Sunday night I was awakened several times by the noisiest cricket in creation. I assumed it was active in the garden outside my open window. So last night I threatened to strangle it if it re-appeared.
Within minutes of ‘lights out’ it started up again. Now we are not talking over-reaction here: this creature’s close proximity ‘chirping’ is as bad as having a very noisy caged bird in one’s bedroom. I slammed the window! It stopped, then started again. I closed the window. It made no difference.
Then it dawned on me. The chirping seemed to be coming from the back? Venturing forth in the dark it continued; the nearer I got to the kitchen the louder it got. When I reached the kitchen door - silence: a stand-off.
I retreated to my bedroom. It started again. This time I retraced my steps and flicked the kitchen light switch. There was the hooligan cricket on the floor.
It took one look at me and scarpered. From there on it was like playing hide and seek with a five-year old, and me in my buff for goodness sake. Finally I grabbed the cockroach spray and opened fire. I buried it this mourning (sic).
Interestingly, the term cockroach conjures up a horrible image; the term ‘cricket’ does not. Yet crickets are also contenders for the prize giving at The Ugly Bug Ball.