My Heart Breaks For The Cricket Trapped In My Basement

As he chirps 24 hours a day, I need to find a way to ease his pain.

This guy, or more accurately, one of his cousins, has been making me feel things I didn't know I could feel.

There has been a cricket stuck in my basement for a week and it is causing me to lose my mind. Now, I know you’re assuming that it’s the chirping that is driving me nuts, and it kind of is, but it’s deeper than that. You see, I was raised on too many Disney movies (so I imagine even the lowliest creatures have the entire spectrum of human emotion). As an adult, I celebrate Sir David Attenborough’s entire oeuvre (so I’m abundantly curious about every animal). This combo has turned me into the biggest softie on Earth when it comes to every living creature with the exception of spotted lanternflies. Fuck those invasive jerks. 

Open your Spotify. Search for South of Heaven by Slayer. Blast it. This is what goes through my head every time I stomp one of these assholes into oblivion.

My sentimentality is the only reason why I haven’t considered this cricket to be a nuisance for chirping around the clock, he’s just a lonely Lothario trying to find a mate. We’ve all been there before — lonely and confused, doing embarrassing things to try and catch someone’s eye. I can hear the desperation in each chirp. 

Listen to him. So not demure. So not mindful. So sad.

My heart aches for him. I desperately want to help him find his way out so he can find a far better locale for attracting a mate. I’m not sure where exactly he’s ensconced himself in the basement — he’s very good at hiding — but I know this tactic isn’t working since he will not shut up. Which brings up another potential issue: I don’t think he has any idea if it is day or night. 

Normally crickets don’t make noise during the day, or at least not too much noise. This guy is screaming into the void (yes, I know they actually use their wings to produce the chirping, but I’ve already given him human emotions, so bear with me) all day long. And then he’s relatively quiet at night. However in this case “relatively quiet” actually means “not quiet at all, but slightly less aggressive.” 

I want to find the little fella and shepherd him outdoors. That way he can make the love connection he so desperately needs. Then he can settle down, have baby crickets, pay a lot of money to get them into a daycare that calls itself school so they can charge an extra couple thousand a month, and set up a savings fund to send them to the esteemed Cricket College of Stridulation. You know, all the rites of passage a successful cricket is expected to achieve. 

Or maybe he’ll just get eaten by a bird. That’s fine too. I just can’t stand this constant state of limbo he’s been stuck in for the past week. Excuse me, I’m going to do some research as to how I can help my poor friend. 

I like to show my work. This is called Journalism with a capital J.

Hold on a second. I just read that crickets don’t chirp only to find a mate, sometimes they do it to claim territory. I’m sorry, sir, do you think the basement is yours? Are you paying an exorbitant amount of rent for this apartment? No? Then you need to get the hell out of here. I’m not running a charitable boarding house here. If you aren’t going to pay your way I’m left with no choice than to evict you. Evict you with extreme prejudice. 

Now how the hell do I find him? Thoughts?