Most people do not like bugs. Obviously, there are those odd ball folks who are etymologists, scientists who study bugs, but we all know they are, well buggy.
I realize that some insects are wonderful: bees, butterflies, lightening bugs and ladybugs… That’s about it.
I despise most bugs. They are icky, they make weird noises and they usually chomp you at every opportunity.
One of the reasons I can’t stand living in New England is that the summers are chock full of bugs. Everywhere. There are ticks, mosquitos, deer flies, horse flies and more ticks and mosquitos.
Much to my mother’s disgust when I was a kid I kept a can of Raid on my nightstand. I couldn’t sleep if there was a mosquito buzzing around. I’d rather keel over from pesticide poisoning then be hyperaware of buzzing all night. That noise still makes my skin crawl.
Other than Jiminy, the one bug I have never given a second thought about was a cricket. They are the background sound of summer nights at Mom’s farm. I hear them outside my windows almost every night in California, but they never mattered.
Until last month.
The first night I heard a cricket in my house I thought it was kind of sweet. Like everyone, I’d heard that having a cricket in the house was good luck. The second night it occurred to me that while having a living cricket in the house was lucky, a dead one probably wasn’t so good.
But I thought it would get itself out, the same way it got in, however that was.
I was wrong.
The third night I spotted the cricket on the floor, after it gave a few lethargic hops, I managed to trap it under a glass with a piece of paper slid underneath. I threw the furious bug outside into the garden and felt pretty good about myself.
Sharon Liveten: bug saver!
That changed later when I was reading in bed, and a giant cricket hopped on my bed. It surprised me and scared the crap out of Jasper. By the time I ran to get another glass it was missing. But I could hear it.
All night long.
The next night I caught three of stupid bugs. I’d throw one in the garden, and by the time I got back I’d find Ruckus staring at another. Every night one would leap on the bed. I don’t think it’s the same cricket, but the creepy thing could just be taunting me.
This went on for a few week. My friends thought I was overreacting. They have all had crickets in the house too. They thought they were charming.
When I pressed my friends for details about their bugs, it became apparent that they had had maybe one cricket in their houses. Once a year. Maybe.
I apparently had a thriving cricket farm. I started getting pretty good at capturing the things. They aren’t exactly smart. For almost a month I was catching and releasing anywhere from one to five crickets a night. Sometimes I’d still hear one in the house.
I am proud that I didn’t pull out any Raid inside or out in the garden to exterminate them. But I did think about it. A lot.
It’s been a couple of cricket free days, which have been lovely. But I haven’t let down my guard. I still keep a glass and a piece of paper next to the bed. I feel safer that way.
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Lionsandtigersandbearsetc 
LOL!
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