When I got home from work tonight, passing by the cats’ food area, I saw an enormous cricket floating in one of the water dishes. I assume it was dead; I did not stop to check. I was toying with the idea of getting a picture and labeling it something like, “Water dish: 1, Cricket: 0,” but then I got entirely too grossed out trying to decide if it was dead or alive (it was about three inches long, and no, I’m not kidding), and picked up the water dish and threw the water and cricket onto the lawn outside.
I have no idea if it was dead or alive. I didn’t bother to look.
Anyway, so a little while ago, I saw another cricket—a live one, this time—and I tried to catch it, but it hopped too fast. (I have a 16-ounce blue plastic cup, not unlike the red plastic cup that Sean Penn used to bail out his leaking boat except, well, mine’s blue, his is red, mine catches crickets, and his probably got added to the garbage floating around New Orleans, and, um, digression, digression, digression). I forgot what I was going to say. Oh. Cup. It’s my catch-and-release cup which has seen service all summer long, and will doubtless last another month, maybe two. There are a lot of insects in my part of Richmond, and far too many of them want to live in my apartment.
Well, a few minutes ago, I saw the cricket on my wall, chased and caught him, and discovered that he’s got at least one partner, and I chased that one down and caught him, too. So now I think it’s time to be on the lookout for stray crickets. I know they’ll come inside when it gets cold, but damn, it’s not cold out yet. Sixties, people, sixties! Not cold!
At least they’re not chirping. Last year, one got into my kitchen and kept chirping. I couldn’t find it. I presume it died.
Then again, crickets make great cat toys. The cricket leaps, Gracie leaps, it’s all good, until she grabs it in her paws and its little legs fall off. No more leaping. Bored Gracie.
Yes, I’ll stop now. It’s all Lair’s fault. I was reading his blog before I posted this.
I’m still stuck on 3 inches. Three?
You totally should have taken a picture.
Our building appears to have a lizard infestation. Once in a while I find baby lizards in my apartment (at least I think they’re baby lizards). I haven’t taken any pictures of them because once I see them I concentrate on only one thing: capturing them and getting them out!
Yes, three inches, though that included its legs and antennae. But trust me, the body was huge. I couldn’t tell if it was alive or dead, because it was floating in the water and limbs tend to move in water. So it creeped me out too much to grab the camera.
No matter what my cats chased, once it stopped running, they stopped chasing. They were always useless at killing mice in the house. Mousetraps were my only recourse. all that cat food, litter and toys wasted! lol
Outside, it was a different story. Every morning, they brought me a gift or two. Sadly, a few were birds, but most were mice.
Once, one of them appeared with a flying squirrel in his mouth. I wouldn’t let him into the house. However, after close to an hour, with the squirrel still limp, I assumed it was dead. I let Sparkplug in. He dropped the dead squirrel beside my fireplace in the centre of my living room. I picked it up to put it outside in the brush. BIG mistake!!
The dead squirrel suddenly came to life, bit me on my finger, and climbed the curtains and wall, only stopping at the 22′ level. Sparkplug chased him up to about the 9′ level before realizing that he couldn’t climb walls too well.
I had nightmares of the squirrel escaping within the house, and torturing me for months. It took my neighbours and me close to an hour to persuade it to leave the house through the open kitchen door. I was about to get my .22 to do it in, but fortunately it decided it wanted freedom, just in time.
I’ll omit the resultant headaches I had with the public health unit, after the hospital reported the incident after the ER doctor stiched the wound.
The moral of the story is to never assume that prey is dead. Either that, or get a good mouser. lol