After last night, I’m convinced that the cricket was one of God’s beautiful, graceful creatures until Satan got his hands on it and twisted it into something demonic. Nothing but a demon-bug can be the size of a dime, inflated to three dimensions, and make more noise than a train. In your bedroom. At six in the morning. When the only thing left to do is forego the two hours of sleep you had left to wake up and try to exorcise the demon.
But when you try to smash it, its round body mysteriously melds into the carpet so it remains unharmed and then goes behind the bookshelf. So you have to empty the bookshelf and move it so you can try to kill the cricket. Except, when you move the bookshelf and even tilt it so you can see underneath, the bug is nowhere to be found. Why? Because it is safe and untouchable beneath the baseboard in the corner of your room. And when you try to stab it with a pencil or butter knife or whatever you can slide between the carpet and baseboard, it makes mocking sounds like its blowing raspberries at your futile efforts to erase its existence.
So there’s nothing for it but to head out to the living room, where there’s at least the thin protection of a wall between you and this demon’s unearthly screeching, to try to eke out the rest of your sleep on the couch or chair.
Fortunately, when you are resigned to your fate, God grants His justice and drives Beelzebug out of hiding so the man of the house can have his vengeance.