Take your chirping elsewhere

My newspaper office has become a hospital for amputee crickets.
In an obvious sign that summer is raging across Texas, even the smallest creatures are trying to make a break for it and land inside an air-conditioned building. Anything, it would seem, is better than outside.
I feel bad for the crickets in some ways - by the time they get inside, they're usually missing legs or miscellaneous body parts I can't spell, if they're alive at all.
On the other hand, I can't stand seeing them in the first place. Despite growing up on a ranch, I have a huge fear of grasshoppers and crickets. It doesn't matter that crickets make pretty sounds at night, or that they're supposedly "gentle insects." As far as I'm concerned, they need to be squashed. Preferably by someone who is not me.
My cat, Juliette, and my room mate's cat, Cousteau, seem to be the only ones happy with the infestation. When they find a cricket, they generally paw it onto a spot on the floor where they can both examine it and then perform what appear to be a series of experiments.

Juliette: Dr. Cousteau, what is your prognosis?
Cousteau: Well, Dr. Juliette, it moves, so that must mean we need to pounce on it.
Juliette: My thoughts exactly. Being cats working in the name of science, we'll need to bite it, too, to determine whether it's any good to eat.
Cousteau: A fine conclusion.

They then proceed to bite off one of the cricket's legs, and when the insect tries to amble away, they paw it back to the "examining table" and continue their scientific discovery.
At least someone's happy about it. A couple of weeks ago, when crickets were first starting to leak their way into our newsroom, I refused to sit any way but Indian-style on my office chair for fear I would step on a cricket or one would run a quick marathon over my feet.
I did make a fool out of myself one morning when a particularly brash cricket made its way under my desk and I screeched "Kill it, kill it!" at my editor, who obligingly crawled under my desk, picked up the bug and delivered it outside unharmed. Our sports editor, who sits across from me, didn't hesitate to make fun of me, but only for 10 minutes, at which time a cricket crawled under his desk and he screeched "Kill it, kill it!"
Fortunately, I live in a second floor apartment and despite the cricket's ability to jump, only a few have made their way into my living quarters. If more come along, I will assume this means all of cricket-kind is declaring war on my 1,092 square-foot territory, and kick into battle mode.
So, a warning to crickets and all bug kind: if you continue to advance the troops, prepare to meet the mean end of my boot, spatula, rolled up newspaper or other object at hand, as I will begin wildly swinging and throwing with no regard to the safety of others.

Photo via eightcow.com