cricket on the hearth. jimney cricket. it was quiet, with only the crickets gentle chirping.
all of these are complete and utter horsewaddleshit. there is currently a cricket it in my house, one of those nasty, black, "hey! our friends are dead, so let's eat them!" crickets in my house , and if it doesn't die soon, i'll go mad.
sophie tilts her ears as it chirps happily away, under god knows what bit of furniture, trying to suss out where it is. then, she goes back to sleep, looking as if she's managed to accomplish something.
i'm not sure what she's accomplished aside from irritating me that the darn cat can't catch a cricket. what's going to happen if we ever had a mouse??
the noise really is beyond anything soothing. it sounds gleeful it's keeping me alive, knowing i fear them almost as much as grasshoppers, the way they creep and jump. you can't squish them because they make a crunch sound then spew out white stuff which you then have to pick up with a tissue, squealing the whole time and saying "EW EW EW" in a high pitched voice.
this is when i miss a husband.
nah, just joshing on that part.
so, i put my ear plugs in, hope no one calls or knocks on the door because i won't hear them, and we all know sophie isn't going to do a thing about the noise a robber makes.
i can't move soon enough.