Bugs!

Two girls came screaming hysterically out of their room at Grammy's.  *Their names will be changed to protect their identities.*  Walynn and Wophie shot out past my door.  Wophie made it up the stairs in two steps.  Walynn collapsed on the couch, yelling at me.  I couldn't get anything coherent out of either of them, but from my long years of sleeping in that room, I knew it was probably a cricket.  Malynn, er, I mean Walynn swore she wouldn't go back in there ever again. 
Grammy settled Wophie down and Walynn still yelled at me. 
Our resident entomologist, Alison called down from the hallway.  "I found it!  It IS a cricket!"  She calmly got a cup and trapped it.  I helped her slide a paper under the cup and she took it outside.
My girls are citified wimps.  We simply don't know (and have forgotten) how to deal with things like mosquito bites (don't scratch 'em!), spiders (okay, I still think these have a dark and sinister past connecting them to Satan), flies, the infestation of spring tails (harmless, but unnervingly like fleas as they hop around), and other buggy things.
If only the girls would decide how they feel about things of an insect nature.  My rule is that bugs are generally free to live outside, but inside, they are an invader and will be squished.  Yesterday, Alison and Heidi were watching a Daddy-long-leg on the stairs.  They were a little bit anxious about it.  I stepped on it.  Heidi wailed, "You just killed nature!"