The Grasshopper rarely fails with the sharp pliers of her powerful jaws to disembowel her capture, which, being unprovided with weapons, confines itself to crying out and kicking.
The main thing is to retain one's hold of the prize, which is not difficult in somnolent darkness.

Any Cicada encountered by the fierce Locustid on her nocturnal rounds is bound to die a lamentable death.
This explains those sudden agonized notes which grate through the woods at late, unseasonable hours, when the cymbals have long been silent.
The murderess in her suit of apple-green has pounced on some sleeping Cicada.
My boarders' menu is settled: I will feed them on Cicadae.

They take such a liking to this fare that, in two or three weeks, the floor of the cage is a knacker's yard strewn with heads and empty thoraces, with torn-off wings and disjointed legs.

The belly alone disappears almost entirely.

This is the tit-bit, not very substantial, but extremely tasty, it would seem.