“I found another cricket in my room last night. The last one nearly drove me crazy for two days before I nailed it; I just can’t go to sleep with one of them around. This one was up under the eves of the roof and I swore a horrible oath not to even try to sleep until one of us was dead…aut insectum aut ego. First I lashed a powdered milk can to the end of a broomstick, stuffed a kerosene-soaked paper inside the can, lit it and tried to smoke him out, but to no avail. Next I tied an old sponge to the end of said broomstick, soaked it in said kerosene, and by squeezing it against the roof managed to drown his little domicile with the stuff. This stopped him for ten minutes or so, but [he] started going at it again on a lesser scale, like he didn’t have much to chirp about…thus I knew I was getting to him.
So I pulled the same stunt again, only used insect repellent instead of kerosene…nearly a whole bottle. So he shut up for even longer, emitted a few desultory noises twenty minutes further on, and was quiet for good.”
Letter from the Mato Grosso, August 3. 1965
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