Someone sure wants our family to have a pet. Help!

What’s going on here? Are the heavens conspiring against me?

When Riley’s goldfish, Mr Fish, topped himself on Monday, I knew my pet-keeping fate had been sealed. The kids actually dealt with it well – I told them Mr Fish took a leap for freedom and they just looked at me wide-eyed. No tears. And no, I didn’t add that this will learn us for keeping that poor creature in a vase. Hopefully they will cotton onto that fact themselves.

So, the day after the demise of Mr Fish, Ayi came in and set about pottering in the kitchen, when this strange, God-awful screeching noise started up. Dashing to the kitchen, I was quickly halted when she held up her thumb and forefinger, with a dirty great cicada clenched between them, shrieking its head off.

At first I was horrified, but then I realized she was only trying to ease the loss of Mr Fish. She told me lots of young Chinese kids keep these things as pets and carry them around in their pockets and under their caps. She said my kids would love him. I told her they’d be terrified of him.

Sure enough, when Ella and Riley came home from Summer Camp and Ayi charged towards them, holding this prehistoric creature aloft, they both ran in the other direction. Curiosity did pull them back eventually and later that night, Ella was carrying Mr Cicada (what is it with the “Mr” title in our house?) around in a very large plastic tub, taking him for a “walk”. Riley, however, still refused to go near him.

That night, Ayi must have taken Mr Cicada home because he wasn’t here yesterday and he didn’t keep us awake all night last night, as expected. I was going to launch him to freedom from our window, anyway, but it looks like Ayi did that already. Unless she took him home for dinner. (Do the Chinese eat cicadas?)

But back to yesterday. No Mr Cicada in sight, but Ayi did come in again with another surprise. A grasshopper – or cricket, really – encased in a miniscule bamboo cage, with barely enough room to stretch his impressive long-jumping legs. A beautiful creature, he was sitting inside a little prison stacked with spring onions, which he dutifully nibbled on, and whose oniony pong spread through the whole house every time he dined.

He is indeed beautiful, and when the kids came home, they were intrigued by him; Riley has named him “Sam”. And when Sam finally felt comfortable enough in our house, he began his chanting call, which sent me straight back to the countryside of Australia, in the early evening when the stars begin to pop out and the crickets begin their lullaby.

It’s now Day Two and I want to crush this lullaby like that critter’s bamboo cage.

At first, it was lovely. But by late evening, it was irritating. I moved Sam to the enclosed balcony and shut the door. Alas, the balcony fronts onto Riley’s room, and Sam’s early morning wake up call had a domino effect on our family. First Sam, then Riley, then Ella, then Mum and Dad wailing their now familiar lament “It’s too early! Go back to bed!”

Damn Sam.

Today, Sam’s chanting lullaby has just about risen to the do-your-head in level. We were going to let him go today anyway, but it can’t be soon enough for me. Not only do I want to save Sam from that cage and the three-day pet curse we have in our house, but boy am I hankering for some cricket-free silence.

So, Sam, it’s been just swell. Thanks for stopping by, but freedom is imminently yours. The kids will be home any minute now and you’ll soon be hopping to freedom in the grass downstairs.

Another one bites the Beijing dust.

Tania McCartney