Manipulating the Monkey

Winter was the quiet time in Jocobo. Most of the shops closed up and those who could afford it went to Florida or some other warm far-off place.

But, believe it or not, some people actually lived in Jocobo year round. When the cold north wind whipped off the slopes of Mt. Elb and the legendary Vinegarroon snowstorms left 45 feet on the ground these hardy folks brought a few more cans of food up from the basement and checked their e-mail for messages. If they had to go out they’d fire up the old 4-By and churn across the frozen wastes for a candy bar, to return a DVD, or maybe even go to work if they were fortunate enough to have a job.

Winter could be just as trying for a cat.

Squeeks, asleep the moment before, sat up suddenly, listening carefully. Yes, the Monkey was home and he was in the kitchen. Squeeks jumped off the bed and made his way quickly downstairs.

There he was, rooting around behind the door where he kept the good stuff—the meat, the gravy, the yogurt, and the milk. C’mon, big fella, give it up.

“Squeeks, how many times do I have to tell you to stay off the table?”

Hearing his tone of voice the cat immediately lay down amongst the books, papers, pliers, styrofoam coffee cups, couch innards, paper clips, pizza rinds, etc., etc.

“You are so bad,” the Monkey said, picking the cat up and placing him on a chair. Squeeks stayed for a moment, watching the big ape move about the room, then hopped back onto his table.

“Look,” said the Monkey while sticking a spoonful of applesauce in front of the cat’s nose. “This is what I’m eating. Do you really think you’d like some?”

Squeeks turned away with disgust, dropping off the table with a loud flatfooted thud.

“Good cat, look, I saved a little cooked chicken for you.”

Later, Squeeks stood by the door waiting for the Monkey to let him out but when the door opened the landscape was white, cold, and uninviting. Squeeks stood there, tail twitching back and forth as a frigid wind blew in.

“Will you go out, already?” The Monkey complained until Squeeks turned around and came back inside. Five minutes later Squeeks was back at the door again. The Monkey was usually good for three or four of these little rejections before he wised up. Then Squeeks would go stand in front of a closet until it was opened. The Monkey usually responded because he was afraid of having mice in his closet.

Then it was time for a snooze.

They went through the whole routine again in the afternoon except maybe Squeeks would sit by the window looking sad, expecting the Monkey to open it. The stupid primate could never seem to remember how to operate a window in the winter and would stand there gibbering even when it was plain what Squeeks wanted him to do.

If the Monkey happened to be sitting asleep in front of the television, as he often did on Sundays in the winter, there was some amusement to be had in lying three or four feet in front of him, crying repeatedly until the dumb animal opened its eyes.

The idiot would then fall back to sleep until Squeeks meowed again. Over and over, it could go on the entire afternoon until the Monkey would finally get up and let Squeeks lead him into the kitchen where he would stare dumbly at a cat bowl full of that dry stuff and ask once again what Squeeks wanted. “Like it’s not obvious, you big dummy! I want what you’re eating. Monkey food! Why do you get all the good stuff?”

Monkeys, what can you do with them? As servants they’re second rate, as companions they’re only fair . . . but they sure are warm on a cold winter’s night!