Monster and the Cricket

The ritual took place every night just before they fell asleep. He would recline on the bed, while the cricket ran up and down his back bombarding him with those impossible questions she was in the habit of asking him i.e.

Monster, why is it you never write me any more poems?

Monster was thinking how best to answer this question, when the cricket spied a spot on his back.

Monster let out a howl. Cricket, you're hurting me!

The cricket insisted:

Monster, you must let me squeeze this spot! - It's only a little spot!

Cricket, said Monster, mustering a tone of sarcasm, if the sun has spots, you will say they are only little spots.

The cricket looked at him with a flicker of amusement.

Monster, she said. The sun is far away. Besides, your spots are here waiting to be squeezed.

The long-suffering monster lay on his back and looked up at the stars. The cricket went to work. By the time it was all over and she had successfully squeezed the spot, the answer had come to him.

Cricket, if you go on squeezing my spots, he said, I'll have no blood left to write your poems.