by Casey Dienel
My rascal is named Cricket.
I wish I could take credit for her clever name, but she was already a Cricket when I met her. I worried I might give her an identity crisis if I changed it and I’ve always thought it suits her. She never meows, but kind of coos and chirps like a pigeon. She has many nicknames: Goose, Duck, Rickets, Budji (not sure where that last one comes from?).
I adopted her from a shelter as a kitten because she looked up at me dopily with her saucer-cup eyes and I couldn’t say no. I was a goner. Up until then I had been largely ambivalent towards cats, but now I am a full-fledged Cat Lady. I love how expressive her face is and her need to be anywhere in the room where the people are, preferably seated on some kind of “throne” where she can survey all of the activity. I call them “Cricket Traps.” That could be a soft cashmere sweater, a balled-up afghan on the floor, a pile of pillows, or best of all, a cardboard box.
She’s a touch vain, especially about her bushy raccoon tail, but most of all she’s very affectionate. Little bits of string or tape send her into a frenzy. She loves to play hide & seek.