Primate Pals

September 20, 2013

He had a monkey when he was a kid, her name was Lisa and she came home with his parents one night. The monkey was the door prize and another couple had won her but turned down the award and his parents accepted the little naughty creature, thinking she would be a good pet for their children. Lisa constantly crapped on everyone’s arms since she was nervous and jittery. She tended to sit, lengthwise on a person’s forearm, butt facing the handler. Although a little bigger than a medium cat, she could spew digested food on a regular basis and create chaos in the room. When the smell of her feces and urine saturated the ceiling in the basement and permeated the flooring on the main level, the family knew it was time to rid themselves of the company of the pet monkey. Lisa was whisked away to parts unknown and never seen nor heard from again.

A boss of mine from lifetimes ago had an orangutan for a pet. The family humored themselves by tricking the operator at the toll booth, hiding down behind the dash while controlling the pedals and steering column. The orangutan, lets call him Buddy, for autonomy sake, tossed the appropriate coins into the bin as the station wagon sped on by. Another choice trick was eating at the dinner table, dressed in his “brother’s” pants and t-shirt, scooping food with a fork and cutting the veggies with a knife, a napkin tucked into the collar of his cotton top. Buddy lived to be 13 years of age and when he died, the family mourned as though he was truly their best relative. When my boss spoke of Buddy’s antics, I felt the power of relationship and joy. I was moved by his stories and encouraged him to talk about Buddy and their short life together.