Katy vs. the Cricket

Last week when we drove Anna to school, I was struck with the beauty of the trees in full bloom, grown so large that the tops touch other trees across the street, forming a canopy of color akin to Anne of Green Gables' "White Way of Delight." I felt something like a romantic poet as I appreciated my surroundings. This area of Virginia is covered with trees, and in full bloom they are quite lovely.

But here is the problem with those lovely trees. In a word - critters. Now I understand why they use that term in the south. It is an all-encompassing word that describes all of the nasty little insects, spiders, unnameables, and rodents that you don't want in your house. Those nasty little things live in and love trees, and I'm afraid some of them view my house as an extension.

And now a new enemy has encroached on my turf. These nemeses were unnamed at first; I simply referred to them as mutant-spider-cricket-roach-frogs. Needing a faster reference to them, I spent hours on the internet staring at pictures of bulgy-eyed southern insects before being able to finally classify them. Cave crickets. ewwwww! They like dark, warm places, and my basement has become a hangout for the local teen crickets. I have only seen four and killed three, but I just know that there is a whole herd of them laughing at me, mocking my attempts.

This morning I went downstairs by myself to do laundry, something that I have made Sean accompany me to do since seeing the first new visitor. And there he was, bulgy eyed, perfectly still, and slightly out of the reach of my shoe (apparently there was a warning in the cricket gazette informing the potential hanger-outers of the limits of my reach). I grabbed the readily available weapons - lysol disinfectant spray, one shoe, the broom, and whatever courage I could muster.

I need not elaborate on the process. I'm sure you can all visualize the screaming, chasing, broom slashing, shoe stomping, bug-slaughter (I wish. I didn't catch him. Those things can jump). The aftermath - a one-shoed, wild haired, crazy-eyed woman standing alone (as if) in her basement, knowing that this one will definitely make the cricket gazette. The escapee is probably bragging to a swarm of interested girls by now - "You should have seen her. Huge. Armed. Aggressive. And I showed no fear. I have lived to tell the tale."

We will meet again, you nasty bug, and next time I will prevail.