My apartment has been blessed by a visit from one of Mother Nature’s soloists, a cricket. I understand that in some cultures this is considered a blessing and sign of good fortune. Unfortunately, I do not live in any of those cultures.
Given this visitor’s limited repertoire and untimely rehearsal schedule I find my welcome growing thin when in the deep stillness of the night he will cut loose in a loud, lonesome and longing love song.
It is time for him to go, but like in-laws, he won’t take the hint. Please understand that I do not, at least initially, wish any harm to come to him. However, my pacifist leanings are becoming a bit less leaned.
I have tried the humane trap of placing bait on an upward facing piece of duct tape. The idea is that while attempting to get at the sweetened cereal the insect becomes stuck and can be plucked off and released outside. My second attempt was a shallow dish of molasses where the singer becomes fixated in the liquid; the cricket does not survive this method, but there is consolation to knowing he died in a state of bliss. Apparently my cricket is on the Atkins plan as neither of these methods has been effective.
I think next I may crank down the air conditioning to make him think winter has set in and perhaps he will consider the need to seek out a warmer climate.
