"Eh?" said Greg, tapping away at the keyboard.
"Cricket. In the kitchen again."
Greg looked up, then shook his head as he heard the telltale breep, breep. "Honestly," he said. "Where are the little buggers coming from?" He got up and headed for the kitchen.
"I dunno," said Brigid. "I guess up the pipes or something. Or maybe under the door. Why you keep just putting them outside instead of squashing them--"
"There's no reason to go squashing them," Greg said, fishing a plastic food container out of the pantry. "Yes, they're annoying, but if being annoying carried a death sentence, all of us would have been sent to the firing squad long ago. And it's not like the same ones keep getting in."
"How would you know?" Brigid said. "Have you tagged and numbered them?"
"Well, no, actually, now that you mention it. But some of them have been distinctive enough -- missing a leg here, or having extra-long antennae there. I'm pretty sure we're not getting repeats, or if we are, they're in the minority." He plunked the food container over the cricket and slid a piece of cardboard underneath, trapping the six-legged noisemaker and carrying it to the door.
Brigid opened the door for him. "Feh," she said. "You're just squeamish."
"Me?" said Greg, tossing the cricket out into the open-air corridor. "You're the one who won't go near them. Anyway, think of it as trying to build up my karma bank, if it pleases you."
"Whatever," said Brigid, and closed the door. She headed back for her couch, as Greg sat back at his computer.
Thirty seconds later, a breep, breep noise came from the kitchen.
"There's a--" started Brigid.
"Yes, yes, I know," said Greg, and reached for the plastic container again.
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