(Disclaimer: Sometimes I write really deep articles that I have put a lot of thought into, things that I have spent much time thinking on and pondering, and that my readers find thought provoking and intriguing. This is not one of those posts.)
I know some of you think I’m silly and crazy for hating crickets the way I do. You talk about how little they are, how they’re considered good luck, how they make “pretty music,” and make “how will you boldly take on a Zombie apocalypse when you can’t kill a cricket?” jokes. But, at long last, I have proof. The following series is a transcript of cricket training sessions I overheard in my own kitchen. What you are about to read may shock and disturb you, but I assure you, it is nothing but fact. Perhaps after reading these previously classified documents, you’ll take this war a little more seriously.
Ah, good. Right on time. Have a seat, have a seat.
Do you know why I called you in there today?
No, no, you’re not in trouble.
I was just hoping to explain things a bit, try and give you a better understanding of why we do things the way we do.
Now, I like your style, I really do. Hopping right through the living room like that, biting the baby on the leg? That’s bold. I’m impressed, I really am.
The thing is, boldness only goes so far. We’ve lost entire armies because of boldness. The thing is, size matters. Technology matters. They have more of both. They stomp on us, they spray us with chemicals, they poison us. Over the years, we’ve had to adjust our strategy. Turn of the century, our kind was almost wiped out because we mounted full assaults, like the one you tried today. That kind of reckless maneuvering is how you find yourself stuck to the bottom of a sneaker. You can’t just launch yourself at someone. Sure, it’s fun once in awhile. Take our primary target, Avily, for example. She jumps up on furniture and screams like a little girl when she sees us. Boy golly, that’s some good times. I’ve jumped at her more than once just for the reaction. If she’s home alone, sure, by all means, hop around a little. But if she’s got anyone else around, hoo boy, you’re in trouble. Even the kids are getting pretty good at swinging shoes around.
Subtlety, that’s the thing. There’s a reason we moved our base of operations from the front closet. We were too exposed. She heard us talking in there, and, well, she got wise. Put traps all over so we couldn’t venture out without landing in glue. There’s no coming back from that. You’ve got to watch yourself around those. One wrong hop and the next thing you know, you’re down to five legs.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Our new base. The wall between the kitchen and the laundry room. She can hear us—that’s important, but it’s a lesson for another day—but she can’t get to us. She can’t get her glue traps in here. And when we go hunting, we go at night, when she’s asleep. That’s the only way we’ll win this war.
The most important thing a cricket can remember if he wants to stay alive is to be subtle.