On the prowl….

In Iowa it gets cold. REALLY cold! Wait, really FREAKING cold!! I am from North Carolina and cold to me used to be 27 degree Fahrenheit, well friends, cold to me is now -15 degrees Fahrenheit. You read that right!! Don’t fool yourself, its freezing!

When winter hits in Iowa (usually around mid October), everything goes into hibernation. The sun doesn’t come up until 8:30 or 9 in the morning and it starts to go down at 4 in the afternoon. Fortunately for me, I am working during that time, so I don’t get to see the sun until March (Jealous? You should be, I am so lucky! Hope you are starting to pick up on the sarcasm here)! The birds leave, the bugs leave, the bunnies stick around, which is a nice sighting every so often, but you get the point, EVERYTHING leaves. Except Spartacus…..

I call the creature you are about to hear about Spartacus because he is a true warrior, a fierce competitor and came to an unfortunate, yet deserving demise. You might be asking yourself “what creature could she be referring too? A lion, a tiger, a bear??” NO! This creature has no fur; he is nimble, quick, and as spirited as they come. He is determined to outlast the brutal Iowan winter in my apartment. He is but a small cricket, also referred to as the nightmare off 2009.

It was snowy night in December and I am cuddled up in a blanket with my beloved feline, Skeeter. We are warm and toasty, fresh cup of hot chocolate in hand. There is something very peaceful about the snow in Iowa, so pure and quiet; you could hear a pin drop if you tried. But that’s not what I heard that night. It was an unmistakable sound. One that usually only comes at night in the summer. I strained my ear to ensure I wasn’t dreaming. There it was again. Crick Crick. Crick Crick. Crick Crick. That is my best attempt at the incredible annoying sound of a cricket.

I stand up and move around the apartment to try and identify the source of the sound. It’s as if the cricket is playing a game with me. I get close and he stops. Then moments later, he is across the apartment. I chase after him. Once I have lapped the apartment 4 times, I decide to rest and hope that he is only a visitor for the evening and will soon leave.

I was wrong. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t leave. I have no idea how he has survived so long, but it has been three weeks and Spartacus is still here! I am losing sleep and patience! One night I reach a breaking point. It’s close to 1:30 am, still wide awake from his cricking, Skeeter and I decide to declare war. I will not sleep until he has been defeated!

We start in the bedroom. Skeeter is there beside me, alert and ready to pounce on command. “All clear, Skeet. Let’s move to the living room” I command him as seems to nod in agreement. Once we have left the bedroom, I seal it off in hopes no one will enter.

The above process continues throughout the apartment until finally, we have him cornered in the bathroom. I lock the three of us in there; Myself, Skeeter, and Spartacus, an unforeseen trio. “You’re going down, you monster!” I yell in a Braveheart type battle cry.

Spartacus remains silent thinking that he will fool us. He doesn’t. We sit and we wait. Then it comes, “crick, crick!” It’s a challenge. Skeeter perks up and I let him take the lead. He looks behind the toilet. No luck. The bathtub. No luck. Then, he gets a scent. I see him crouch into position like Mufasa, the lion king, eyeing his prey. There’s a shuffle and I see Spartacus for the first time, no bigger than a Tylenol gel cap, he jumps into the air, and Skeeter swats him down. Then, as if he was begging for mercy, one final “crick” and he is gone. I pick him up and give him a royal burial at sea. “Goodbye, Spartacus. You put up a good fight, but you didn’t have a chance! Good boy, Skeeter” I say as I pick up the victor and give him a good pat on the head.

I lay back down, Skeeter gets in the perfect nook he forms in my arms, and we have our first peaceful night sleep in what feels like an eternity.