The Creature

I was sitting at the computer, working on a story when suddenly I heard a strange squeaking/chirping noise.  At first I thought it was my feline companion, Sir Trevor, and continued on with my work. 

Sipping on my peppermint tea, I heard the noise again, it seemed to be coming from under my desk, I moved my feet and tucked them under my chair.

Sir Trevor popped his head up from his current nap and came over to investigate.  Once again, the thing made the strange noise.  Sir Trevor was now on high alert.  He crouched down beside the desk wiggled his hind quarters and prepared to do battle.

I slowly backed my chair away from what I thought would soon be a battle zone, taking my peppermint tea with me.

Silence.  Soon Sir Trevor grew tired of the waiting game and returned to his basket to catch up on his sleep.  I eyed the spot that he had been staring at but saw nothing. Puzzled, I returned to the computer but couldn’t keep my mind on the story.  Images of moles, mice, or heaven forbid, rats kept playing in my mind.

What could make a sound like that, and how did it get in here?  I decided to be brave and do a search and rescue mission. I moved a couple of bags that were on the floor beside the desk.  I even shook them a little. My search revealed nothing.  Resigning myself to the fact I would be living with the creature, as I was now referring to it.  I once again returned to my desk.

After writing a paragraph or two, I heard it again.  It had migrated to beneath the TV stand.  Sir Trevor perked up his ears, but soon lost interest.

I turned off the computer, steeped another cup of tea and retired to my bedroom to read. All was quiet, and I sipped my tea and read until my eyes grew heavy.

In the morning, I returned to the computer with a steaming cup of coffee and logged on to Writing.Com, part of my morning routine.  Now and then I cast an eye toward the TV stand, last known whereabouts of “The Creature."

Later that day I heard it again the sound was coming from behind me, but I couldn’t pinpoint the exact location.  I did another search this one more methodical to the point of vacuuming and washing the floors that involved moving furniture. “The Creature” was not to be found.

In the evening, my friend, Rhoda, her daughter and grandson arrived for a visit. A fly buzzed around the table as we sat chatting, over coffee.  It was an annoying fly, the kind you just want to swat. Now and then one of us would take a swing at it, Rhoda managed to hit it once only injuring a wing.

Baby Connor tipped over his mum’s coffee, and some of it splashed to the floor. I grabbed a mop and out hopped a bug, thinking it was the injured fly, Rhoda stood up to step on it and put it and all of us out of our misery.  Just before her foot came down... the noise!  Too late, “The Creature” was squashed.

“We looked at each other for a moment. “A cricket,” Rhoda gasped, “it was a bloody cricket.”

Feeling a little guilty, I looked at the remains sadly for a moment, then dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“A cricket, I said, “not a rat, mouse, or even a mole, just a cricket!  Who would have thought such a small bug could make such a big noise?”

Mystery solved, we went back to our coffee.  The fly was still at large, but no one had the heart to swat him.

I still giggle when I think back to the incident. It does prove the point that fear is mostly in the mind.  I mean really, a cricket?