How I Straight-Up Murdered the Cricket in my Bedroom

I’m a bit of a finicky sleeper. I don’t like tiny lights on when I try to sleep, and I don’t like sounds either. So, when a cricket managed to work its way into my bedroom, it sounded like a marching band playing Sousa.

The first night he started to sing his song at about 11, right when I was falling into a deep sleep. I couldn’t find him that night, but I think I made enough of a racket to scare him off, or I just fell back asleep quickly enough to be too unconcsious to hear him again. The next night was different.

The problem with crickets is that their sound tends to echo and makes it difficult to determine where they are, especially if you have one ear smothered by a pillow. I couldn’t tell if he was coming from the bathroom, outside a window, behind the dresser, or somewhere else.

The second night I took the ninja approach. When he started doing his thing, I crept out of bed, stood up, and listened. Sounded like it was coming from the bathroom. I took two steps towards forward, and he stopped. I stood absolutely still for a few minutes until he started again. Definitely the bathroom, I thought. I took a few more steps and made it to the entry way of the bathroom before he stopped again. My rudimentary echo-location skills told me it was coming from under the sink. I turned on the light and flung open the doors. I ransacked everything under the sink like a DEA agent searching for cocaine.

Nothing. Clever girl.

But, rather than admit defeat, I persevered. I turned the bathroom light off, sat on the ground, and waited. Minutes ticked by with the speed of a handicapped turtle, and I kept waiting. Finally he started to make his sound again. Just to my left! I turned the light on again scanned the ground. There! Right under crack of the door to the commode.

He was tiny, but with a couple of quick smashes of my sandal he was no more and I flushed that bugger right down the toilet he was hiding next to. I slept soundly that night knowing that my victory was complete.

Written by Scott Williams who lives and works in sunny Phoenix, AZ. Twitter is also a place.