Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house…not a creature was stirring…
Except for the frickin’ monkey.
It’s no secret sometimes pets and Christmas trees don’t mix. I had a beagle who somehow thought ornaments constituted a new food group. That was good for four or five days of sparkly poop.
And cats…cats got a thing for tinsel. At least this one Siamese cat I had did. Kai Ling liked to decorate in her own way. Usually this resulted in spreading the damn stuff everywhere, including places a cat should never have been able to reach, like spiderwebs in ceiling corners. It’s still a mystery how she got up there. But she also liked to swallow it. Tinsel does not digest well and glittery cat puke is not a pleasant discovery—and waaaay too often that discovery comes via a slipper, or worse, a bare foot—Christmas morning.
But monkeys and trees…
Oh, yeah. His name was Porky and he was a red macaque. One of those stubby monkeys with virtually no tail and a little red ass that made him look like he’d spent a bit too much time at the local House of Pain. He had a bit of an attitude when it came to the Christmas tree. Whenever he was out of his cage, he gave it the evil monkey eye. I can’t imagine what was going through his simian mind when he stared at that multi-colored, glowing glittering faux fir, but you just knew Santa had a poop fling with his name on it.
Porky managed to figure a way out of his cage one not-so-funny Christmas Eve. Did you know monkeys like to fling Christmas balls? It’s why I only use the plastic ones now. Glass balls…oh, they shattered way too easily. And what they hit shattered too, sometimes. At least we lost two lamps that way.
That loud crash? Well, that wasn’t Jolly Old St. Nick coming down the chimney. Something came down, all right. With a loud boom and a shrill monkey screech.
We got up to find faux fir D-O-A in the middle of the living room, along with the two deceased lamps. Christmas balls—the ones that survived—had to be dug out of various places—behind the couch, chairs, Aunt Edna’s Urn (just kidding on the Urn!) Tinsel was everywhere, including wrapped about the monkey like a shiny new silver coat. The Christmas Angel tree topper? Well, we still miss her...
And Porky himself? Porky was hanging from one of those ceiling lamps that had the chain-encompassed cord running down the wall (this was late 60s, so cut me a break). The look on his face was one of fear mixed with a weird monkey satisfaction. I think he was pretty happy he’d finally given that fake tree its just desserts.
Well, at least he hadn’t eaten any tinsel, so flying silver poop or hurled foil vomit wasn’t a problem.
He wasn’t big on Easter, either. I’ll tell you about that some other time…
Showing posts with label monkeys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label monkeys. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Monkey See, Monkey Do-Do
I’ve spent a bit of time talking about Teekee, the capuchin my family had when I was a kid, but we had other monkeys, three to be exact. The first of these was another capuchin named Chichi and he was probably the most tame and human-like of the banana bunch, which depending on your tolerance for bodily functions might not be saying a hell of a lot.
Chichi had his share of naughty habits, too, as do all little furry people who run around without pants. But I know a couple kids like that, so meh.
Anyway, Chichi, while he wasn’t in Teekee’s league when it came to monkey-jinks, was certainly no amateur. My grandmother lived with us at the time and this particular little bugger was pretty fond of her. So much so he imitated everything she did. Including pilfering her Kents and running around pretending to smoke. Oh, we were fortunate he never figured out how to light a match and chose a filtered brand, but he did swallow one once.
It took about two days to get all the monkey puke out of the furniture and carpet…
Probably his worst habit was finding his favorite spot behind the recliner and depositing his bum chocolate on the shag. I used to sleep in that chair sometimes. Lemme tell ya, it wasn’t a pleasant awakening, that odor. And God forbid you had a blanket over your lap because when you woke up you had butt nuggets for company. I’m sure he thought that was funny in some weird monkey way. Me…not so much.
Monkeys like to swing from things, too. And drapes make a fine substitution for jungle vines. At least until they come down atop the little twerp. Monkeys can make an ungodly shriek when they can’t figure a way out of fallen drapes. Pretty much the whole frickin’ neighborhood can hear it. And thinks you are torturing your kids. FYI: It takes roughly two hours to convince the cops that is not the case.
Oh, and don’t wear those fake tiger pattern slippers. Leopard, either. Take my word for it on this. Unless you don’t mind being called four toes…
Chichi had his share of naughty habits, too, as do all little furry people who run around without pants. But I know a couple kids like that, so meh.
Anyway, Chichi, while he wasn’t in Teekee’s league when it came to monkey-jinks, was certainly no amateur. My grandmother lived with us at the time and this particular little bugger was pretty fond of her. So much so he imitated everything she did. Including pilfering her Kents and running around pretending to smoke. Oh, we were fortunate he never figured out how to light a match and chose a filtered brand, but he did swallow one once.
It took about two days to get all the monkey puke out of the furniture and carpet…
Probably his worst habit was finding his favorite spot behind the recliner and depositing his bum chocolate on the shag. I used to sleep in that chair sometimes. Lemme tell ya, it wasn’t a pleasant awakening, that odor. And God forbid you had a blanket over your lap because when you woke up you had butt nuggets for company. I’m sure he thought that was funny in some weird monkey way. Me…not so much.
Monkeys like to swing from things, too. And drapes make a fine substitution for jungle vines. At least until they come down atop the little twerp. Monkeys can make an ungodly shriek when they can’t figure a way out of fallen drapes. Pretty much the whole frickin’ neighborhood can hear it. And thinks you are torturing your kids. FYI: It takes roughly two hours to convince the cops that is not the case.
Oh, and don’t wear those fake tiger pattern slippers. Leopard, either. Take my word for it on this. Unless you don’t mind being called four toes…
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Jungle Love
One of the Monkeys I had as a kid was in love with Skeeter Davis. For those who have no idea who that is, she was a country singer in the 60s and 70s with a hit called The End of the World and a few others that escape me at the moment.
Not sure what it was about this particular woman this monkey—yeah, it’s Teekee again, the monkey of ill repute from ear-pulling fame in my blog—but not only did she mesmerize him whenever she came on but he was riveted to the show Hee Haw, which commonly featured her.
If you were ever wondering what Hee Haw’s demographics were, well, wonder no more…
Maybe it was her blonde hair or something in the tone of her voice, but when she sang, he chirped. And did other nasty things that I won’t bring up here. A glazed look washed into his eyes and he did that funny forehead scrunching thing monkeys do. I used to get a glazed look in my eyes with Hee Haw too, but it was for a different reason (well, ok, when the hot country girls pooped up in the cornfield it was the SAME reason, but I won’t go there, either.)
He never wrote Skeeter monkey fan letters or sent her gold plated Monkey Chow, but he never flung poop at the TV when she was on and somewhere he had a banana with her name on it. Probably a good thing he didn’t profess his jungle love, because I’m pretty sure the relationship was doomed form the start. Species obstacles and all that, no matter how much DNA scientists tell us we have in common with our simian relatives.
It was kinda funny, kinda creepy in a way to watch him moon over Skeeter. And a few years later I would be able to identify with him in a weird way, thank you very much Olivia Newton-John.
I’ll spare you what he thought of the Lawrence Welk Show gals…
Not sure what it was about this particular woman this monkey—yeah, it’s Teekee again, the monkey of ill repute from ear-pulling fame in my blog—but not only did she mesmerize him whenever she came on but he was riveted to the show Hee Haw, which commonly featured her.
If you were ever wondering what Hee Haw’s demographics were, well, wonder no more…
Maybe it was her blonde hair or something in the tone of her voice, but when she sang, he chirped. And did other nasty things that I won’t bring up here. A glazed look washed into his eyes and he did that funny forehead scrunching thing monkeys do. I used to get a glazed look in my eyes with Hee Haw too, but it was for a different reason (well, ok, when the hot country girls pooped up in the cornfield it was the SAME reason, but I won’t go there, either.)
He never wrote Skeeter monkey fan letters or sent her gold plated Monkey Chow, but he never flung poop at the TV when she was on and somewhere he had a banana with her name on it. Probably a good thing he didn’t profess his jungle love, because I’m pretty sure the relationship was doomed form the start. Species obstacles and all that, no matter how much DNA scientists tell us we have in common with our simian relatives.
It was kinda funny, kinda creepy in a way to watch him moon over Skeeter. And a few years later I would be able to identify with him in a weird way, thank you very much Olivia Newton-John.
I’ll spare you what he thought of the Lawrence Welk Show gals…
Friday, August 10, 2007
Don't Play with the Monkey!
We had monkeys when I was a kid. This was back in the 70s when they were still legal to own as pets. In fact, you could buy them in the back of magazines and comic books and have them shipped from Florida. My family had probably four or five, though not all at once.
Monkeys are an odd lot. They really are. This one in particular, a capuchin, we had was named Teekee and he might have been odd even as monkey oddness goes. He was kinda like the relative you had over for Thanksgiving dinner who seemed to think pulling out his dentures and setting them on the holiday table was really an ok thing to do. You know, the guy mining his nose for gems he could roll between his fingers for half an hour before dropping them on your floor or couch or flicking them at the cat. Yeah, THAT guy. Uncle Bert or some such.
Teekee was Uncle Bonzo in his unique furry little way. He had bad habits, as monkeys are wont to have. Oh, it wasn’t bad enough this little simian reprobate had the lack of shame to peel his banana in front of God and everyone. Noooo, that wasn’t nearly enough. Not only wasn’t it enough, but he saved it for those times you preferred he didn’t act up. My mother’s Lutheran minister, who visited every Thursday, learned pretty early on Teekee didn’t like him. No sooner would this guy walk by Uncle Bonzo’s cage than would the little devil decide to whiz on his pant leg. Or worse. This monkey was major league baseball material when it came to flinging poop.
But I digress.
At the same time we had this beagle named Puni. Now Puni was a kind, wonderful little bundle of duh. Not the brightest kibble amongst the bits.
And Teekee, that malicious poop-flinging, pant-whizzing little banana-peeler, knew it. Oh, how he knew it.
At the time the Purina company not only made dog and cat food. They made this noxious little nugget of goodness called “Monkey Chow”. Teekee liked Monkey Chow about as much as kids like lima beans. Or liver. Basically, he used it to bean the poor beagle in the tail end whenever the dog chanced to walk by the monkey pen.
You think that would have been enough to teach Puni to stay away from the cage. But apparently she couldn’t read the two-foot high Beware of Monkey sign.
Let me tell you one thing about monkeys. They like to torture you. If you show the least bit of fear they exploit it. If all your lights aren’t on they know it instantly and use it to their advantage.
As I said, not all of poor Puni’s lights were on.
Enter the Monkey Chow.
Teekee might not have much cared for those scrumptious little nuggets but Puni thought they were the closest thing to eating cat poop right out of the litter box. Teekee learned this quick. At nearly exactly the same moment, he learned beagles have big floppy ears that are loads of fun to pull.
Here’s the equation, which Teekee executed daily, if not more than that. One piece of monkey chow held out of monkey cage at arm’s length entices unsuspecting dog near cage. Dropping monkey chow makes dog lean in to gobble it up. Big floppy ears plus two dirty monkey hands equals tremendously loud squealing noise from dog.
Yep. Everyday we could look forward to that squeal. Teekee would grab both that dog’s ears and brace his monkey feet against the cage bars and yank. The whomp of the dog’s head hitting the cage was immediately followed by a yelping that could be heard for miles.
Teekee thought this was the bees knees. You could see the nasty little glint in his eyes and the smug toothy grin on his face. Of course, it would take a few moments to pry his greasy little hands off the dog’s ears. The dog would go running off, probably wondering why the hell she hadn’t fallen for the same trick for the fiftieth time. Teekee would keep on grinning that foolish monkey grin and chirp away as innocent as could be.
There’s a weird moral to this story. No, not Monkey Chow causes longer ears. Don’t keep doing the same thing over and over if it isn’t working, whether in our relationships, jobs or daily lives. Don’t sell yourself short and keep getting your ears pulled. And don’t eat monkey Chow. It tastes like poop. Don’t ask me how I know…
Monkeys are an odd lot. They really are. This one in particular, a capuchin, we had was named Teekee and he might have been odd even as monkey oddness goes. He was kinda like the relative you had over for Thanksgiving dinner who seemed to think pulling out his dentures and setting them on the holiday table was really an ok thing to do. You know, the guy mining his nose for gems he could roll between his fingers for half an hour before dropping them on your floor or couch or flicking them at the cat. Yeah, THAT guy. Uncle Bert or some such.
Teekee was Uncle Bonzo in his unique furry little way. He had bad habits, as monkeys are wont to have. Oh, it wasn’t bad enough this little simian reprobate had the lack of shame to peel his banana in front of God and everyone. Noooo, that wasn’t nearly enough. Not only wasn’t it enough, but he saved it for those times you preferred he didn’t act up. My mother’s Lutheran minister, who visited every Thursday, learned pretty early on Teekee didn’t like him. No sooner would this guy walk by Uncle Bonzo’s cage than would the little devil decide to whiz on his pant leg. Or worse. This monkey was major league baseball material when it came to flinging poop.
But I digress.
At the same time we had this beagle named Puni. Now Puni was a kind, wonderful little bundle of duh. Not the brightest kibble amongst the bits.
And Teekee, that malicious poop-flinging, pant-whizzing little banana-peeler, knew it. Oh, how he knew it.
At the time the Purina company not only made dog and cat food. They made this noxious little nugget of goodness called “Monkey Chow”. Teekee liked Monkey Chow about as much as kids like lima beans. Or liver. Basically, he used it to bean the poor beagle in the tail end whenever the dog chanced to walk by the monkey pen.
You think that would have been enough to teach Puni to stay away from the cage. But apparently she couldn’t read the two-foot high Beware of Monkey sign.
Let me tell you one thing about monkeys. They like to torture you. If you show the least bit of fear they exploit it. If all your lights aren’t on they know it instantly and use it to their advantage.
As I said, not all of poor Puni’s lights were on.
Enter the Monkey Chow.
Teekee might not have much cared for those scrumptious little nuggets but Puni thought they were the closest thing to eating cat poop right out of the litter box. Teekee learned this quick. At nearly exactly the same moment, he learned beagles have big floppy ears that are loads of fun to pull.
Here’s the equation, which Teekee executed daily, if not more than that. One piece of monkey chow held out of monkey cage at arm’s length entices unsuspecting dog near cage. Dropping monkey chow makes dog lean in to gobble it up. Big floppy ears plus two dirty monkey hands equals tremendously loud squealing noise from dog.
Yep. Everyday we could look forward to that squeal. Teekee would grab both that dog’s ears and brace his monkey feet against the cage bars and yank. The whomp of the dog’s head hitting the cage was immediately followed by a yelping that could be heard for miles.
Teekee thought this was the bees knees. You could see the nasty little glint in his eyes and the smug toothy grin on his face. Of course, it would take a few moments to pry his greasy little hands off the dog’s ears. The dog would go running off, probably wondering why the hell she hadn’t fallen for the same trick for the fiftieth time. Teekee would keep on grinning that foolish monkey grin and chirp away as innocent as could be.
There’s a weird moral to this story. No, not Monkey Chow causes longer ears. Don’t keep doing the same thing over and over if it isn’t working, whether in our relationships, jobs or daily lives. Don’t sell yourself short and keep getting your ears pulled. And don’t eat monkey Chow. It tastes like poop. Don’t ask me how I know…
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