Yuck! or Why A Cluttered Basement Floor Is A Really Bad Thing

Occasionally they find their way upstairs, and I become the facilitator for the Modersohn Cricket Reserve Catch And Release Program. For the most part, however, they remain in the darkness that is our basement. It's cool down there, and the slight dampness and lack of light make it much like their natural home: a cave.

Their number astounds me, and I wonder how there could be so many of them. Surely there is nothing for them to eat in there. (What do they eat, I wonder . . . ?)

In my girly-ness, I really don't like these bugs. I know that they are crickets. They don't bite or sting, they don't secrete any nasty substances, they don't do anything that would harm me or my children. And yet . . . I'm terrified of them. They are huge bugs, though I suppose my sisters who live in southern climes might laugh at me. For New Jersey these are gigantic. And when a lively one gets to hopping, I almost always run the other way.

This morning, needing to run a load of laundry, I ventured down to their lair. I cautiously made my way to the first light switch and felt a small measure of relief when the fluorescent light snapped on right away (it sometimes takes a minute or two). No crickets in my path yet. I quickly snuck over the first half of the path back to the washer, fearful that an Evil Bug was hiding, waiting to pounce on me. I clicked the second light on and I saw, dimly lit, a body moving under the dump sink. He wasn't hopping, so I pushed the fear aside, though my heart beat a little faster, and continued my job.

I emptied the dryer into my basket, filled the washer and started it. Then I remembered that I had left two pairs of pajamas on the floor by the washer to be tossed in with the next load. I bent to pick them up, keeping my eye on the bug beneath my sink. Something didn't quite feel right.

I looked down at the blue fleece in my hand and saw three long legs curving out from under my hand, over a fold. I screamed as I dropped the cloth with the sneaky bug only to realize that there were actually two of them in there, and they were lively! Before I knew what was happening, they were hopping on my legs, on my arms, on my head!

I did my best to brush them away, a silent scream filling my throat. When I was satisfied that both of them had bounced off into the corner, I quickly examined the pajamas for any other cricket friends, tossed them in the washer, slammed the lid, and ran upstairs.

My skin is all creepy crawly still.



Now, about the clutter:

There are sprays one can use to irradicate these little monsters, but my problem at the moment is that there is a bunch of stuff, mostly clothes, on the floor. I know. I should clean it. But, as you've learned in the above story, the clothes are quite probably full of crickets.

And I hate crickets.

Talk about a Catch 22!