For years I’ve given the impression that there’s just the two of us living here, but that is false. We share the Hacienda with crickets much of the year.
Like most Mexican homes, the Hacienda is full of little spaces through which they enter, and they prefer to hole up in the kitchen, which is good because they sing at night — and it’s not opera or even Bo Diddley — and the kitchen is as far away from the bedroom as you can get.
Behind the refrigerator is a favored spot. Sometimes when I enter the kitchen at dawn I will find one in the sink. I imagine he was thirsty. For years I just trapped them and tossed them into the yard, but now I smash them and toss them into the trash.
On rare occasion, a cricket will grow bold and exploratory, and there’s only one direction for that, toward the living room and, even farther, toward the bedroom where their night yodeling is not permitted. They are hunted down and slain.
Better crickets than mice, and we’ve never seen a mouse. Occasionally, we spot rats in the yard, and there are holes out there that look suspiciously like rat tunnels. At times, I toss poison down there, but I’ve never seen a corpse. If we ever see a rat in the house, or perhaps even a mouse, my child bride will immediately move to the Downtown Casita.
But the crickets aren’t so bad if they stay on their side of the house where they belong.