When I was growing up, there were three bugs that my family never, ever, under any circumstances, killed. Ladybugs and crickets were protected for their good-luck-bringing properties, and daddy long-legs were protected because they ate other spiders (so they were on the same side as us, very ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ thinking). I’ve respected that tradition through adulthood. Mostly.
Still…when I flipped on the bathroom light this morning on my way to relieve my bladder from the long night’s rest, I pretty much screamed like a little girl when out of the corner of my eye I spied a BIG black cricket in my white bathroom sink. The wake-up curve jumped from slow and steady to straight up FREAK-OUT in no time flat. Oh, and it was a good thing that I was in the bathroom already because it just about scared the ‘juice’ out of me!
Now, I’ve had a VERY fortunate few weeks recently, and I wholly acknowledge the good luck associated with it and I am very grateful. So naturally, given my family traditions, my first thought is “DON”T KILL IT.”
But, what to do? Here I am, with my patient puppy anxious for his turn at the morning ablutions racing to the door after looking intently at me, but can’t wash my hands in the sink to finish my turn, lest the BIG scary cricket jump on me. Off to the kitchen for me!
At last, hands washed, puppy still patiently waiting (pressing our luck here, risking a carpet present if we wait much longer, mind you), I return to the scene of the invasion to ponder the next step.
Back and forth between kitchen and bathroom I go, making 3 rounds with 3 different container options before settling on a plastic screw-top jam/jelly container that is transparent so I will KNOW that BIG scary cricket is contained and not plotting escape.
Finally, little Jim (yes, named after Pinocchio’s Jiminy, and little because he is now safely contained and not roaming free in my home) and I are together making our way to the front door, where oh-so-patient puppy has chipped the paint making his point that it is HIS turn to go potty, thank you very much.
Next, BIG Jim decides to jump around this container and I drop the thing because I could FEEL IT when he hit the side. EEEWWWW. Fine, fine, Jim, I get it, you’re NOT little, you’re BIG, now just stay put for a SECOND so I can let you outside PLEASE?
Out the door, down the stairs, and 30 yards away (why make a return easy??), BIG Jim is free and patient puppy is delightedly relieving himself.
Back inside, ready to start my day, it occurs to me – how in the hell did Big Jim get up that high, anyway? Is it still lucky if the little buggers are super-naturally talented and can scale smooth Formica walls? Or maybe I should have kept him as a pet (NOOOOOO!) because he was super-naturally lucky?
Overly Honest 