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Dec. 9th, 2008 03:51 pmI don't always think things through in quite the manner I should.
Case in point, Saturday night. I was sitting in my living room with the Engineer and Mister Kyle, talking trash and half-watching the disc of animated shorts I referenced in an earlier post. The Engineer was doodling away on the computer and I had stood up to get something to drink when I saw out of the corner of my eye something small and brown and insect-y on the carpet.
Living in an apartment, whenever one spots something small and brown and insect-y, the first thing they usually think is ohfuckit'saroachgoddamnit. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was not actually a roach, but a cricket. A wee, excitable cricket further testing would prove as it jumped straight into my face when I tried to pick it up.
My normal bug-catching procedure in the apartment, with the exception of flies and roaches, which are executed on sight, is to get a cup and a piece of stiffish paper. Place the cup over the offending bug, slide the paper underneath, and then carry the whole rigaramole outside. This was no different. I got the cup and paper, then went to put the cup over the cricket. But, at the last moment, it jumped.
So, I turned to where it landed and tried again. And the little fucker leapt out of the way again. Now, at this point, I'm already more than slightly inebriated and this wee bastard is flinging himself all over my living room and I'm chasing around unsteadily with a red plastic cup in my hand. Mister Kyle is almost pissing his pants laughing and the Engineer is still on the computer, hunting ghosts or playing chess or whatever he does on there when I'm not looking.
After a riotous five minutes of this, I finally pin the tail on the goddamn donkey and get the cup over the cricket. Slide the paper underneath the cup, listening to the frantic pinging as it threw itself against the walls of its prison and kind of half in awe at its cricket-y determination to move through matter.
Straightening up, I realized that with my next step in this process, I had an issue. Normally, I bring the bug-in-cup outside and set it free. But, this is December and cold. Unseasonably so. And I just can not, in good conscience, take this little guy outside to reenact the Jack Torrence in the hedge maze scene from The Shining. It just wouldn't be right. I also can't very well keep the damn thing as a pet, either. For starters, I don't have cricket-keeping capability and seconding, I'm fairly certain everyone in my life would have me committed for wanting to keep a pet cricket out of soft-heartedness. Tara finally went over the edge! they'd say. She couldn't kill that cricket she found, so she made a pet of it. Pretty soon, she'll be dressing hams in bonnets and knitting socks for the roast chicken. Time for the padded room, I'd reckon.
Of course, they wouldn't actually use the word reckon because the majority of the people I associate with make fun of me for using it and say I'm a hayseed hick. But, I digress.
So, what does one do when they've caught a cricket, are too soft to kill it or let it go outside into the cold, dark night?
Well, after much thought and wembling, I took my new cricket friend out to the hallway of the apartment building and set him free there. It's fairly warm, warmer than outside at any rate. And there's numerous places to hide (like the empty apartment down the hall). I'm trying not to think of it wriggling its way into the crazy lady's apartment in unit 2; she'd freak out and scream at her young son for three hours about how it was his fault, then bug bomb the entire place.
Case in point, Saturday night. I was sitting in my living room with the Engineer and Mister Kyle, talking trash and half-watching the disc of animated shorts I referenced in an earlier post. The Engineer was doodling away on the computer and I had stood up to get something to drink when I saw out of the corner of my eye something small and brown and insect-y on the carpet.
Living in an apartment, whenever one spots something small and brown and insect-y, the first thing they usually think is ohfuckit'saroachgoddamnit. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was not actually a roach, but a cricket. A wee, excitable cricket further testing would prove as it jumped straight into my face when I tried to pick it up.
My normal bug-catching procedure in the apartment, with the exception of flies and roaches, which are executed on sight, is to get a cup and a piece of stiffish paper. Place the cup over the offending bug, slide the paper underneath, and then carry the whole rigaramole outside. This was no different. I got the cup and paper, then went to put the cup over the cricket. But, at the last moment, it jumped.
So, I turned to where it landed and tried again. And the little fucker leapt out of the way again. Now, at this point, I'm already more than slightly inebriated and this wee bastard is flinging himself all over my living room and I'm chasing around unsteadily with a red plastic cup in my hand. Mister Kyle is almost pissing his pants laughing and the Engineer is still on the computer, hunting ghosts or playing chess or whatever he does on there when I'm not looking.
After a riotous five minutes of this, I finally pin the tail on the goddamn donkey and get the cup over the cricket. Slide the paper underneath the cup, listening to the frantic pinging as it threw itself against the walls of its prison and kind of half in awe at its cricket-y determination to move through matter.
Straightening up, I realized that with my next step in this process, I had an issue. Normally, I bring the bug-in-cup outside and set it free. But, this is December and cold. Unseasonably so. And I just can not, in good conscience, take this little guy outside to reenact the Jack Torrence in the hedge maze scene from The Shining. It just wouldn't be right. I also can't very well keep the damn thing as a pet, either. For starters, I don't have cricket-keeping capability and seconding, I'm fairly certain everyone in my life would have me committed for wanting to keep a pet cricket out of soft-heartedness. Tara finally went over the edge! they'd say. She couldn't kill that cricket she found, so she made a pet of it. Pretty soon, she'll be dressing hams in bonnets and knitting socks for the roast chicken. Time for the padded room, I'd reckon.
Of course, they wouldn't actually use the word reckon because the majority of the people I associate with make fun of me for using it and say I'm a hayseed hick. But, I digress.
So, what does one do when they've caught a cricket, are too soft to kill it or let it go outside into the cold, dark night?
Well, after much thought and wembling, I took my new cricket friend out to the hallway of the apartment building and set him free there. It's fairly warm, warmer than outside at any rate. And there's numerous places to hide (like the empty apartment down the hall). I'm trying not to think of it wriggling its way into the crazy lady's apartment in unit 2; she'd freak out and scream at her young son for three hours about how it was his fault, then bug bomb the entire place.
