This morning, it is with differentially heavy hearts that we at Caterpickles must report the death of another male cricket.
As reported last Friday, The Nine-Year-Old’s first male cricket, Nicholas Nickleby, fell victim to a marauder.
Not one to be without a male cricket for long, The Nine-Year-Old toted home his replacement that same day. She named him Charles Allen Cricket, and introduced him to her female cricket, Debbie Davis, immediately after school.
The two didn’t exactly hit it off.
In fact, they hardly even noticed each other, but The Nine-Year-Old didn’t worry about that too much. The Nine-Year-Old was certain that Charles Allen Cricket, with his lovely legs and clarion chirp call would win Debbie Davis over in due time.
In The Nine-Year-Old’s eyes at least, Charles Allen Cricket was a lovely cricket.
Perhaps too lovely for this world, or at least the little bit of it that we had reserved for him. For although The Nine-Year-Old’s anti-cat defenses have improved significantly — Canelo wasn’t even able to get a decent whiff of cricket in the four days that Charles Allen Cricket lived with us — The Nine-Year-Old found Charles Allen Cricket belly up in the cricket habitat this morning.
Rest in peace, Charles Allen Cricket.
The Nine-Year-Old, dumping Charles Allen Cricket’s lifeless husk into the kitchen trash: “Mommyo, do you think Debbie Davis is a vampire cricket?”
Mommyo, fervently: “I hope not.”
The Nine-Year-Old, watching as Mommyo carries out the trash immediately, just in case: “I’m going to call this next cricket, Charles Allen Cricket the Second. It’s hard work coming up with all these names.”