Feeling Rather Chirpy

At this time of year, Jews are supposed to welcome all guests into the temporary dwelling huts we are commanded to construct for the duration. So perchance the good L-rd is punishing me for not having constructed one myself? That might go some way to explain my most recent, rather scary visitor...

I returned home yesterday to find (what I first thought was) a massive great brown hairy tarantula* sitting on the handle of the door to my apartment. You don't want to imagine my initial response- rest assured it was nothing like the Sideshow Bob noise previously discussed.

Having seen one too many film where large-insect-on-door-handle is used as a formulaic "bad" omen, my first thought was to call my landlord down to inspect this gargantuan "tarantula" and ascertain that my apartment wasn't filled with it's brothers, sisters and 4th cousins á la that tunnel Dr. Jones crunches his way thru on the way down to the Temple of Doom. However when I realised that such an action might result in said Landlord seeing just how unruly his prized property is currently being kept by yours truly, I decided against, reminding myself that I have an OK track record regarding creepy-crawlies. (Obviously, I am fervently anti cockroach, mozzies and wasps- if anyone can explain the purpose of that Triumvirate Of Evil Pointlessness on this planet, I'm all ears- I'm prone to a moderate snake phobia as much as the next person, but nevertheless I was a fearless scorpion-squelcher back in the day, and if there was ever a course on how to safely remove spiders from scared people's rooms, I might even be asked to teach it.)

So to last night's visitor: Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that he didn't have enough legs to be a tarantula, although I wasn't 100% certain of this being as my last encounter with deathly arachnids had been 20 years ago at my friend (now Dr.) S's 10th Birthday Party at Kidderminster Butterfly Farm. Yet that "expertise", plus vague memories of Pinocchio, confirmed the diagnosis that this unwelcome squatter was, in fact, a cricket.*

I suppose that when one hails from a country where Cricket is a game (albeit one you still don't really understand, despite the fact that international tournaments are played around the corner from your Parents' home) one remains sadly unprepared for such encounters.

Had I been a keen member of some hallowed insect-spotting society, I'd probably have been very happy at this point. This not being the case, I duly informed Mr. Cricket (although according to the research undertaken since, I think in retrospect it was a Ms. Cricket) that not only was I not scared of him, but also he was to take great pains to be silent if he wished to remain a guest on my front door handle. He responded by nonchalantly jumping off the handle and scuttling away. Upon entering my abode, I was pleased to note an absence of crickets languishing anywhere else. Having said that, reading up on them today, I also discovered that they lay eggs at a rate of knots. Locals, I'll let you know if I need somewhere to stay within 56 days...

*nb no corresponding photos have been posted on the actual page out of consideration for those who don't like looking at them