"Look at that silly monkey. What does he think he's doing?" This question was asked by my wife Pat as she glanced out the kitchen window towards the big cage out back.
"What? Did you say something dear?" I was deeply involved at the moment in a Marvel comic book and didn't want to be disturbed by anything of less importance.
"Come over here to the window and look out towards the monkey cage and tell me if you see what I see."
There was an urgency in her voice, so regretfully I laid my comic book down and with a grunt arose from my over stuffed reclining chair and walked to the back kitchen window where she was intently staring at Butch.
For the benefit of anyone reading this CROSSROADS newspaper for the first time, Butch is my pet pig tailed monkey. He is a very close relative of the rock apes. I bought him as a birthday present for Pat over 15 years ago.
At that time however I had no idea that pig tailed monkeys lived forever. But on the bright side, this little hairy bundle of energy wormed his way into our hearts and lives so that now he has become the indispensable member of our family.
And so it was with more than just idle curiosity that prompted me to look out the window at Butch. What I saw caused my eyebrows to rise up.
Butch was hanging by his toes upside down from the top or his cage. He had his arms spread wide like he was fixing to give Miss Murphy, our cat, a great big hug. He must have been hanging upside down for a long time because his beady little eyes looked bloodshot.
It took a couple of minutes before my curiosity reached its peak. Then I was out the back door walking towards the cage to find out what was going on.
Opening his cage door, I stepped in and walked over to where he was hanging. He hadn't moved an inch. Hanging upside down from the top of his cage brought his head on a level with my head so that we were staring at each other - eyeball to eyeball.
"What do you think you're doing Butch? You quit hanging upside down right this minute." No answer. I bent closer to his face. "Are you alright son? You're not feeling sick are you? Still no answer. Not even one little "Ooh!". By now I was starting to get worried.
All of a sudden his wide open arms reached out to either side of my cheeks and rolled my face close enough to his to give me a big slobbering kiss - smack dab on the lips!
"Yuk!!" That rascal Butch! He just played a trick on me and I neatly fell right into it. Why does a trick always work out for him and yet backfires every time on me?
Dumbfounded, I watched Butch as he unhooked his toes from the cage and drop to the ground. He looked so smug strutting hack and forth, jumping up and down, doing back flips and oohing all over the place. Boy, he sure pulled a good one on me.
Thanking my lucky stars that no one caught me in such an embarrassing situation, I sheepishly walked back to the house. But alas, I only thought no one saw me. My wife had seen everything and had laughed so hard she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then, to my utter astonishment she was on the phone dialing one neighbor after another, telling them what Butch had just pulled on me.
As I heard their laughter on the other end of the phone a crimson flush slowly rose to my cheeks as I felt that Pat had somehow betrayed me.
At last my sense of humor cane to the rescue. Well, I guess it was sort of funny at that. In another moment I was laughing with the rest of them.
Walking into to the kitchen, I opened the fridge door and pulled out a big bowl of spaghetti with mushrooms. While it was heating in the microwave I buttered two slices of bread and poured out a glass of milk. Then I added a Twinkie for desert.
"What are you going to do?" Pat asked while watching me fix up a tray.
"Feed Butch," I answered, walking to the back door.
"But that's your dinner."
"Not anymore. Now it belongs to Butch. To the Victor goes the spoils."
Walking out the back door I could see Butch waiting to be served his dinner. You deserve it Butch I thought to myself. But just you wait until the next time.
Duce is the penname of Carman J.W. Vance at the Crest Yard in Fort Worth.
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