the last cicada

my cat meows at me from the balcony.

incessantly.

loudly.

I sense she needs more from me than just her standard desire for attention.

and it’s nearly 9p on a school night.

I should go see what the fuss is about before she drives the entire neighborhood berserk.

“what is it, loud mouth?”

I poke my head out the balcony screened door.

MEOW MEOOOOOW MEOOOOOOOOOOOOW

she exclaims as she heads over to the window to show me what’s just out of reach for her.

ah…

a cicada.

she wants me to help her get a damn cicada.

she wants for me to willingly be party to murdering this unmenacing creature.

you’re on your own, kiddo… I say to her as I walk back inside.

she’s clearly annoyed. she meows some more.

“do you want me to bring you back inside?”

meow

she retorts in defiance.

I can’t.

this ain’t a fly. or a mosquito. or some other pain in the ass parasite.

I love cicadas. they fascinate me. from their buggy eyes to their little bulky bodies to their loud screeching which somehow helps me fall asleep at night. September cicadas and crickets. two of my favorite things about late summer. I’m out like a light within mins once in bed. windows wide open listening to the cacophony of nature’s finest sounds of Northern Virginia.

but there’s a part of me who feels bad for the cat.

this is her last Virginia summer.

we move to Washington state in a couple of weeks.

and that state just don’t have bugs like we do. they don’t have many bugs at all, from what I hear and have been told. not even lightning bugs.

the sounds to fall asleep to will be completely foreign for me… and will take some getting use to after 30 years of knowing nothing else.

and for cat… well, this may very well just be her last cicada.