The carpenter’s house sits by a river. He often tells his wife about the garden he had as a kid. Every day after school, he’d dash out to water the plants. He loved growing sunflowers, and when they towered over him, blooming huge, he’d bend them down, pluck the seeds, and roast them for a snack. He’d recount his childhood with these small joys—mixed with tales of getting whacked with a broom by his mom for skipping chores to play, or scrapping with friends and sneaking off to swipe corn from the fields. His youth, in short, was wild.

One moonlit night, with a cool breeze blowing in from the river onto their balcony, the carpenter spotted a little cricket tucked in a corner. He called out to his wife, thrilled:

“Honey, that cricket I let go the other day—it’s back in our house!”

“Sweetie, chase it out! I’m terrified of bugs.”

“It’s not hurting anything. I set it free once, and it came back. That means it likes our place. Let’s keep it in the corner. Tomorrow I’ll grab some grass for it to eat. We’ll have a little pet, huh?”

“Ugh, what if it jumps on me at night? What if it zips around the house? What if it crawls on me? I’m scared—get rid of it!”

“Relax, back in the village, I used to catch crickets to fight them. So much fun. It won’t bother you. Let’s keep it inside, okay?”

With that, the carpenter grinned wide, cradling the cricket in his palm, eyes sparkling as he gazed at it, cooing like a kid reliving his past. His wife didn’t know what to do but figured she’d trust nothing wild would happen overnight.

Yet that night, she jolted awake to a brain-rattling chorus. She nudged her husband, “Why’s something screeching in the middle of the night?” He mumbled, “It’s the cricket, honey. Go back to sleep—it’s harmless.” But it was too loud. So the carpenter dragged himself up, grabbed a broom and dustpan, scooped the cricket from the corner, and set it outside, shutting the door to muffle the noise.

The next morning, he told his wife, “It was so hungry it chewed through a plastic bag. Tonight, I’ll grab some grass—must’ve been starving last night.”

“Put it in the flowerpot,” she said. “There’s leaves there—maybe it’ll eat those. At least it won’t go hungry.”

“Then you’d pluck all my feathers out when it strips the plant bare, right? I’m not that dumb. Crickets don’t eat leaves.” As he spoke, he lifted the little black four-legged critter, stroking it like he felt sorry for it.

“It’s not some giant that’ll devour all the leaves. If it’s hungry, it’ll eat.”

After her words, he plopped the cricket into the flowerpot. It hopped around nervously when he lifted it from the dustpan, maybe scared of being tossed out again, until it settled in the pot, still as can be.

That evening, after picking his wife up from a coworker’s place, the carpenter stopped by a plant shop on the way home and darted in to buy a glass jar. Seeing her puzzled look, he explained, “It’s to stick some grass in and keep the cricket as a pet—what else?”

“How do you know it’s the same cricket you let go?”

“I’m sure it is.”

“You didn’t mark it—how can you tell?”

“I just feel it. Crystal clear.”

Mid-conversation, he pulled over by a grassy patch near home, hopped out, yanked up a blade, and brought it back. First thing through the door, he bolted to the balcony to check on his little buddy.

“I put it in the bush, and it’s quiet as a mouse now, honey. Your flowers are safe!”

As he spoke, he deftly scooped soil into the jar, broke the grass into tiny bits, tucked them in, and planted the roots. Gently, he moved the cricket from the pot to the jar and sat there, delighted, watching it munch away at the fresh grass. Every so often, while doing chores, he’d peek out to check on it, worried the little guy might overeat and keel over.

“Honey, I pick it up now, and it’s not squirming like this morning—just lying there. Maybe it’s stuffed?”

“Or maybe that grass you grabbed was loaded with chemicals, and it’s knocked out.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything. Back in the day, we called these ‘haircut bugs’ and took them to the fields to fight. This one’s small but scrappy. Lost half an antenna, though—looks less handsome now.”

So now the couple has a tiny, cute pet, a little flowerpot just as cute, some cherry tomato seeds sprouting, and mung beans soaking for next month’s meals…