Angel of Death

It is cricket season here in West Texas.  And when I say "cricket season" I mean the bug-gers are everywhere including inside of our house.  I don't know how they get into our house (perhaps around the dryer vent or by the flexible pipe to the indoor HVAC unit.  They are harmless creatures, but they make that noise, that cricketing sound.  Right now I am listening to them jump on and off of the front door.  Previously, Rick used to catch the crickets in the house and release them to the great outdoors (for some reason he thinks it is bad luck to kill crickets or grasshoppers).  However, since we have multiple crickets breaking into the house, we have taken to smacking them with a fly swatter.  Thankfully, we have help with our cricket eradication.  It's Lupe, our cat.  He is an excellent cricket catcher, but his preferred method is a slow, painful death.  He rips their little legs off.  In the morning when I first wake, I find legless and lifeless bodies all over the floor, typically in the kitchen.  This is how Lupe has always killed bugs or spiders, so years ago I nicknamed him Joseph Mengele.  I don't mean to make a joke out of the horrible man who was known as the Angel of Death at Auschwitz-Birkenau, but Lupe shows the same disregard for cricket, spider and bug life as Dr. Mengele showed for human life.