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Health & Beauty
WWW.THEPRESS.NET The Case of the Chirping Cricket
One of my mom’s all-time favorite programs was Perry Mason. She would watch them over and over again even if she had seen every episode many times before.
When the camera zoomed in on the faces of the cast in
Senior the courtroom, it was
Corner fun to figure out the who-done-it part, but for mom it was simply the joy of watching her favorite show once more. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that
Marla her hairdresser back
Luckhardt in New York was also Barbara Hale’s, and you can imagine the thrill on my mom’s face when she got to talk directly to Della Street on the telephone.
Nobody likes a good mystery more than my mom did or I do. Keeping with that theme of murder mysteries, I share with you now The Case of the Chirping Cricket. Although the story is real, the name of the cricket has been altered to protect the innocent.
A few nights ago, while I was watching television after Grandpa went to bed, I heard an annoying chirping noise in the house. I got up and started to look all around, but it seemed to be moving from place to place. It was driving me bonkers. Every time I put the lights on, it stopped. I reluctantly woke Grandpa up, and we checked everything from his hearing aid batteries to our smoke detectors to the computer. It was crazy since he didn’t hear it, and I tried to describe that it sounded like a cartoon bird or worse, a gigantic bat! We both walked all around the house expecting something winged to come swooping down at us at any moment. No luck, and of course with the lights back on the chirping stopped. He went back to bed shaking his head and mumbling something about me being weird. Within seconds the snoring resumed, and I went back to the living room listening intently for my unknown assailant to return.
With only the glow of the television, the chirping not only resumed, it was ten times louder than before. I looked down and a cricket the size of a baby rhinoceros was staring at me. I could swear it was laughing. “AHA, he has gone to bed and now it’s just you and me, lady!”
Fearlessly I attempted to catch it with a half-used napkin and put it outside. But the beast was fast and jumping all around. Every time it jumped, I jumped. I ended up on the floor with my slipper sock off trying to gently scoop it up and guide it to the closest door. Sasquatch got bigger and bigger in the dark and jumped under the television
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credenza with the speed of a gazelle. No amount of coaxing and pleading worked, so I turned off the lights with the help of my dear friend Alexa and headed back to the couch, never taking my eyes off of that credenza. Then, more chirping. Lights on; no chirping. This happened four more times. I ended up using different coaxing words, and not very nice ones at that. It was him or me! Finally, out of the corner of my eye I see Goliath in the same spot as the last four times. I’d had it with him. No more Mrs. Niceguy. Stealthily, I grabbed my blue plastic bowl with the cherry pits, dumped them and covered Behemoth with it. I got back down on the floor holding the bowl securely over Gigantus, trying to figure out my next maneuver since any minute he might push it up with his bulbous arms and jump back under the
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credenza or on me! I didn’t want to wake Grandpa again, so I left a tiny sliver of air and wrote a rather large and obvious note saying DO NOT TOUCH OR LIFT THIS BOWL. I figured if he was up first, which he always is, he might lift my clever trap and set Haystacks Calhoun free to roam again.
The next morning, all was eerily quiet. No chirping and no update from Grandpa, who had been awake since the crack of dawn. Still half asleep, I wandered cautiously into the living room to find that the note and the blue prison were both gone. I was frantic. Was I to spend another night on the prowl for the Yeti of the cricket world? Would he invite his family into my home? When I finally found Grandpa in his man cave of an office, he explained that the tiny, cute and totally defenseless critter I captured with such gusto was dead. I argued that it was as big as the car in our garage and tried repeatedly to devour me whole the night before, but he wasn’t buying it. Even though I am not proud to be the murderer from Perry Mason, I was relieved that the African Bush Elephant of the bug world was gone for good, never to darken my dark living room again. The End!
Marla Luckhardt is a Brentwood resident who works with several local senior care and advocacy groups. Reach her at marla2054@aol.com.
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