Contemplating flaming ice and how one should really hold their mouth to get a poem to be born right, I heard with great alarm a squeaking sound. First thing I thought, “my fan”.
That fan always worries me because to pass a class I installed one in my new computer. It didn’t need one but to complete the course I took out a perfectly good one and put it right back in. A non-credit course, so it was a foolish thing to strive for perfection except that I love to learn; so I returned home with an A and a bit of knowledge about computers, mainly ‘if they’re not broke, don’t fix ’em’. That lesson came to mind as the squeaking sound grew louder.
“But hark, it isn’t the computer fan,” I mused aloud as I struggled upright after pressing my ear tight against the fan grill. What could it be? It was truly starting to bug me.
I walked the length of the hallway and the volume increased incrementally, especially as I neared the living room. I turned on the light; the cat was in the chair asleep, snoring quietly with beautiful rhythm,
Still the squeaking persisted. It could only be a cricket, yet I couldn’t see it. If it was a cricket it was in fine form… and then I saw him. Not inside, outside on the door sill and chirping at full trill.
I wanted to bring him in, in payment for his singing and maybe give him a meal. Common sense won out. I picked him up, stroked his back and turned him loose. It might have been my imagination but I declare as he hopped off into the grass he chirped something that sounded like, “You might have asked me in.”