I was making my bed the other morning. I'm not a neat freak, but I like to make my bed so I can pile stuff on top of it over the course of the day. Anyway, I picked up one of the pillows to fluff it up and there was a cricket.
Eeeuw. It may have been there all night.
It could be worse. It was not a roach. But it was an insect. And furthermore, I recognized it. This was not a cute little lace-wing or grasshopper visitor from my garden. This was one of the juicy brown crickets we buy at the pet mart for the Larger hooligan's leopard gecko.
12 for $1, if you're wondering. I make him pay for them. And I ask the pet mart lady to put them in a brown sack, so I don't have to look at them on the way home. It makes a scratching noise as I drive. Eeeuw.
I remained calm, as there was no one home to come running if I hollered. I flicked it onto the floor and stomped on it. Sorry cricket. Sorry lizard. I felt a little bad, but mostly relieved.
I suspect that the cricket container got dumped. The larger hooligan failed to mention this to me. This shows that he has a strong sense of self preservation. That's a good thing.
Later, on the phone, my mom pointed out that these pet store crickets may be invasive. Perhaps they will devour every green thing in the neighborhood, starting with my garden. It will be a plague of locusts. She's not one to look on the bright side, is she? Bad Grandma.