Katydid free at last

I first spotted—actually, heard—this Common True Katydid about a month ago, when it apparently fell or vaulted out of an oak tree and decided to try to turn my car into a giant resonator. It was singing its incredibly loud "katy-did... katy-did..." song from a secure "studio" that it fashioned just underneath the windshield wipers, and it was only with the deftest of touches that I was able to coax it out of its sonic lair and into the little wire and plastic home I'd obtained on loan from my grandson. The katydid, as good a leaf mimic as exists in our area, took to captivity easily, and  quickly learned to enjoy meals of apple slices, blueberries, and wild aster and goldenrod blooms. I knew the insect was happy because every night around midnight, when the house lights dimmed, it started to sing. The raucous, three-syllable phrases, repeated for hours without a break, were not exactly musical, but I found them oddly soothing. Truth be told, I had a hard time letting the katydid go. But today, in advance of our trip to Indiana, I decided to liberate the songster. I wasn't convinced he'd be well taken care of in our absence, and it was past time for him to join the evening chorus in hopes of luring in a mate and perpetuating the species. He seemed to agree.