By Jiminy

I woke up one morning a couple of weeks ago to the sound of chirping. It wasn’t the chirp of a birdie, no, it was the chirp of a cricket. And it was coming from inside my house.

I rolled out of bed and headed into the kitchen, where the chirp was coming from. Loud. I located the little bugger behind the refrigerator. There didn’t seem to be any point in unplugging the fridge and pulling it out to get at the critter. Last time I moved the fridge I tore up a good chunk of linoleum, which I describe to the curious visitor as “floor art.”

It’s just a cricket, I said to myself. Must’ve hopped in the day before when I had the doors open to air the place out after cooking my specialty, “blackened everything.” He was quite an adventurer, though. The edge of the marsh, where him and his buddies live, was a lot of hop skip and jumps away. Ah well, I thought, how long’s he gonna last back there, anyway. Besides, the way I always heard it, a cricket indoors signifies good luck.

I got used to Jiminy, and he got used to me. At first, whenever I’d open the fridge or turn on the sink faucet, he’d stop his fiddling right quick. But after a couple of days he kind of relaxed and settled in, not missing a beat with his concerto, paying me no nevermind.

And brother, that bug could play. By night and by day, he’d commence to rubbing his legs together for hours on end. I guess he was lonely back there and trying to attract a mate. I could relate to that. Jiminy’d play his songs of love, and I’d drift off into dreams of Claudette in her waitress outfit, flipping my flapjacks.

After a couple weeks of this, I started getting curious. I looked up crickets on the in-ter-net. Seems there’s quite a variety, in size and shape, some of them kinda scary sounding. Hissing beetle. Dragon cricket. Roach . . . Some people raise them by the thousands as food for their pet snakes. Shoot – What if Jiminy is a Jimetta? What if she’s getting ready to lay a bunch of eggs back there behind the fridge? What if I wake up one night to a Cricket Tabernacle Choir? My sympathetic idea of laying down food and water was abandoned.

Well folks, this morning I shuffled into the living room with a cup of java and a bowl of wheaties, and something moved and caught my eye. A black object on the rug near the back door. I put on my specs and peered down. Yep – it was Jiminy. Poor little bugger had tried to escape, and succumbed in the vast Sahara of the carpet. I got a paper towel and bent down to retrieve him. Dang! If that cricket didn’t jump a foot in the air and start hopping like mad back toward the kitchen and the fridge.

No, friend, no, I cried, you need to be back among your own kind. I threw open the door, grabbed a broom, and blocked his retreat like a sentry. Halt! When next he landed I gave the broom as gentle a whoosh as I could muster, trying to persuade him in the direction of the great outdoors. But he fought me tooth and nail (or whatever the cricket equivalent might be) and I had to give him a couple of good whacks to get him over the door ledge and out.

I never knew crickets were so solid. Built like a armored vehicle, and a tad bigger than I had imagined. Jiminy reminded me a lot more of David Cronenberg than Walt Disney. I hate to tell you, but I go my dander up when I finally lifted him proboscis over keister and out. Shoot – made me kinda sick inside as I stared down at him, not moving, all twisted up. Looked like the end of a beautiful friendship.

Feeling kinda sheepish – big bully! – I put the broom back in the kitchen and came back to the front door, wondering what kinda ceremony would be appropriate for an insect. My funereal expertise has mostly been with warm blooded critters.

But lo – Jiminy was gone! Little feller had pulled hisself together and gone back to his homies, with some mighty tall tales to tell. I stared out into the tulles in the marsh. I thought about those two weeks of free concerts in the kitchen, and all I could say was – good luck…