A Monkey of a Problem
The monkey wasn’t there anymore. It was entirely possible the monkey had never been there. Joseph was a busy man. He couldn’t be expected to keep track of the comings and goings of monkeys.
Apparently, his wife was also too busy to keep tabs on primates. When their daughter, Abigail, had stomped into the living room questioning the monkey’s whereabouts, Carol had only shrugged and returned to her laptop. The response earned an exasperated huff from the girl before she disappeared from the doorframe. Undoubtably to go looking for a monkey.
Joseph took the exchange as the perfect reason to leave for work. If a full-on rescue mission was going to take place, he wanted to be scarce. He picked his way across the wood floor, stepping over a floppy-eared rabbit while simultaneously bending low to avoid colliding with the tail of a cantankerous macaw named Mr. Feathersworth. He wove around Tilly the hedgehog munching on a head broccoli, a tangle of wrestling ferrets and a stoic mastiff named Bruce before reaching the door.
The yard was littered with various creatures, most of whose names he didn’t bother to remember. A few ran over to him, expecting a treat, but he kept his eyes forward on his way out in an attempt to deter them.
Abigail was always a precocious child. When she asked for a kitten at four years old, Joseph and Carol hadn’t seen the problem. They felt confident that although her Rs still came out as Ws, Abigail could keep a cat alive. Plus, he and his wife were self-aware enough to know that the small child wouldn’t get much by way of cuddles from either of them. The kitten seemed like a natural solution.
As expected, Abigail was a wonderful caretaker of the kitten, who was later christened Boots. By the time the frantic little fur ball grew into a blockheaded tomcat the pair were inseparable. They would go out into the yard for hours, chasing butterflies or exploring the hedges. Abigail would dress him up in bows and handkerchief capes. Boots seemed to enjoy his forays into fashion, trotting around in silk and lace for hours before pulling the accessories off with his hind legs.
Of course, Boots was still a cat. No amount of ribbon could change that. One day, Abigail burst into the house weeping, trailed by a shamefaced tabby. She was clutching a dormouse in her tiny, trembling hands. The rodent was bleeding from three puncture wounds and frozen with fear. Joseph didn’t have the heart and Carol didn’t have the stomach to smash its head in, so they suggested Abigail try to nurse it back from the brink. Their cowardly suggestion unwittingly planted a seed for the girl, who succeeded in saving the mouse and swiftly moved on to rescuing other animals.
Abigail started to bring in the expected wounded creatures. A bird with a broken wing or a baby squirrel that fell from its nest. Joseph was proud of his little veterinarian and praised the girl’s efforts. Carol was mostly disgusted by the activities but kept it to herself. But soon, the animals Abigail took in seemed to be less wounded and more collected. For example, nothing seemed to be wrong with opossum Joseph found lumbering through the dining room one morning. It made a nest in the top of the hutch and stayed there all spring, carrying dead snakes and birds to its screeching babies inside. Robins, crows and finches were regularly found perched on the corners of cabinets or taking baths in standing shower water. Joseph assumed Abigail just left the door open for them but Carol insisted they were coerced there instead.
Domesticated animals found their way into the home too. First, a half-feral alley cat Boots had befriended. Then a three-legged mutt. Then a rat far too friendly to have not been a discarded pet. Joseph and Carol weren’t thrilled with the mounting collection of creatures, but their daughter was so happy they let it all slide.
In retrospect, they should have said something when the situation was manageable. By age ten Abigail has amassed not just animals, but a reputation in town. She became the go-to pet sitter when people went on vacation and the foster home when someone’s dog had a litter. The zoo even called on occasion, asking Abigail to house animals that weren’t quite exotic enough for their facility but were unable to live in the wild. (That’s how Sabrina the ostrich became a permanent resident in their backyard.) The girl took them all gladly. Her parents adopted an accommodating attitude, vowing that if the animals ever became more than a nuisance they would have to go.
The neighborhood was generally accepting of the menagerie in their midst. Everyone seemed to delight in the helpful eccentricity of the girl and fawn at the gentle indulgence of her parents. Everyone that is except Mrs. Florence Tuttnum.
Mrs. Tuttnum was what most people would consider a dream neighbor. She was incredibly quiet and inexhaustibly neat. Her music could never be heard from the street. Her lawn was manicured with such rigor that her grass looked like turf. Her roses were pruned just so. She was uninterested in chit chat and never asked for a thing. To most people, Mrs. Tuttnum would be an ideal person with which to share a property line. The problem, of course, was that Joseph’s family wasn’t most people.
The downside of Mrs. Tuttnum’s quiet life and perfectly kept home was that she wanted them to stay that way. That was a tall order when dogs were always barking and rescued goats were wandering into her yard. Joseph tried to keep the animals away with pens and leashes, but some creatures couldn’t be contained. Birds were a particular problem. Abigail made their yard a haven for wild birds that couldn’t be bothered to hold their bowel movements until in the proper lawn. It was quite common for Mrs. Tuttnum to arrive irate at Joseph’s door demanding that her patio furniture be cleaned. Less common, but more unsettling, was when she fired warning shots at the animals who dared explore her property. She hadn’t shot one yet, but it really was only a matter of time.
So, it was very much to his dismay that when Joseph passed by Mrs. Tuttnum’s house on his walk to the office that day and saw a macaque monkey sunning itself on her porch swing. Joseph cursed and briefly considered pretending that he hadn’t seen anything. Who could judge him for wanting to just go to work like a normal man? But, even if no one would know, he couldn’t let down Abigail.
She’d said there was something special about this monkey. What was it? It was blind, maybe? Or pregnant? He couldn’t remember, but expected it was even more of a reason to get the primate away from Mrs. Tuttnum and her possible threat of violence.
Now, what was the monkey’s name? Abigail named all the creatures, even if they were only temporary residents, which this one was. It had been discovered in the home of a deceased diabetic who had bought it illegally. Abigail was its caretaker while Animal Control tried to find a more permanent home. But what had she called it? Something uncomfortably human, he remembered.
“Psst, Frank!” Joseph tried to get the macaque’s attention, but it didn’t stir. It was entirely possible its name wasn’t Frank, but that seemed right.
“Frank!” Joseph hissed louder. Still nothing.
Deaf. That was it. The monkey was deaf.
This would make the challenge of extricating it from Mrs. Tuttnum’s much more difficult. Joseph’s mind raced with ideas.
Maybe he could disguise himself as a delivery man and scoop the monkey up in an empty box? No, Mrs. Tuttnum never ordered anything online. Plus, where would he find a costume on such short notice?
Maybe he could attach a net to a long pole and slowly ensnare Frank from a safe distance, unseen by his neighbor. It felt possible until he remembered he had neither a net nor a long pole.
Joseph realized he was unlikely to come up with anything brilliant. He’d just have to go get the simian escapee the old-fashioned way. He only hoped Mrs. Tuttnum was asleep or away. She hated when people came on her porch uninvited. Seeing two beings at varying degrees of evolution would definitely send her reaching for her shot gun.
Slowly, Joseph leaned his briefcase against the spotless white fence. Then he crept up the path to Mrs. Tuttnum’s house. The monkey may be deaf, but he wasn’t taking any chances with heavy foot fall. He made it all the way up the wooden steps without interrupting Frank’s doze. But the minute his feet hit the boards of the porch, the monkey’s eyes snapped open.
Joseph and Frank stared at each other unblinking for a few heartbeats. Man and monkey, squaring off. Joseph decided to chance it and took a slow step forward. As if on a trigger, Frank leapt off the swing seat and scurried up the chain holding it to the awning. Then the monkey let out a screech so loud Joseph suddenly had a theory as to how he had lost his hearing.
Undeterred by the display, Joseph rushed toward the monkey. He knew he was making too much noise crossing the porch at this pace, but he figured that the quicker he got Frank, the quicker he could get away from Mrs. Tuttnum’s house.
Frank was faster. He bounded from the chain and over the porch railing in a single motion. Joseph made chase, lumbering over the railing himself before dropping into Mrs. Tuttnum’s side yard with a thud. He saw the end of Frank’s tail disappearing around the corner of the house and dove. Joseph missed the monkey and instead caught the edge of the home’s siding right in the eye. He couldn’t help the yelp of pain that escaped, but he did manage to pull himself up and continue his pursuit.
As if he’d forgotten all about his tracker, Frank was sitting on his hind legs and picking nits in the middle of Mrs. Tuttnum’s beloved rose garden when Joseph turned the corner. He normally would have weighed the cost of treading into such sacred ground, but the blow to the head knocked out his caution. Joseph raced into the garden, charging toward the monkey, slowed only by snagging his clothes on multiple thorns. Just as Joseph neared, Frank looked up from his cleaning and ran away as fast as all four feet would let him, sending a spray of dirt and mulch in his wake.
Joseph’s own cursing was drowned out by the loud crack of a gun. The sound of it stopped both primate and human in their tracks, despite only one of them having the ability to hear. Their heads swiveled in unison to behold the bathrobe-clad form of Mrs. Tuttnum silhouetted in the frame of her back door.
“Joseph Clarke! I don’t know what you are doing in my roses or why there is a godforsaken monkey in my yard, but if you two are not out of here by the time I count to ten, you’re both going to get the business end of my shotgun.”
Having only ever heard the gun before, Joseph was surprised by the immobilizing effect of its physical presence. He stood stone still staring at its abalone handle and shining silver barrel. Frank was another story.
The monkey it seemed, was a fighter. He bared his teeth at the woman, showing four sharp canines. Joseph appreciated Frank’s gumption but knew the spectacle would only hurt them both.
“One!” Mrs. Tuttnum punctuated the beginning of her countdown with another shot into the air. It was enough to stir Joseph into action. He dove again for the monkey. He peripherally heard the fabric of his shirt tear and the sting of a thorn but was too focused on Frank to care.
This time, he was able to grab the monkey by the tail. Triumphant, Joseph pulled Frank toward him. Frank didn’t struggle. Instead, he turned around with impressive flexibility and bit down on Joseph’s hand. The pain had its intended effect. Joseph immediately let go of the tail, screaming in agony while prone on the dirt.
Frank bolted into the hedges that surrounded Mrs. Tuttnum’s yard. Joseph watched him disappear into the branches. He’d been defeated. The loud counting to his left told him that if he wasn’t quick about it, he’d also be dead.
He gingerly got up and jogged toward the side yard to make his escape.
“Apologies, Mrs. Tuttnum!” He called as he rounded the corner. She just kept counting.
A few painful minutes later, Joseph limped through his own door. His eye was already swelling shut and he could feel the cool air of his home’s AC through the gaping hole in his shirt. He surveyed the furry chaos in the foyer around him with weary distain. He loved his daughter—enough to bleed for her, apparently—but surely today was an example of the animals becoming more than a nuisance. He was just plucking up the courage to say something when Carol appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Oh, there you are dear. Great news! We found the monkey.”
Author’s Note: This story was written as a response to a prompt provided by my friend. The first paragraph is theirs. The rest is mine, but wouldn’t have happened without the brilliant beginning.
This was so much fun! The scene when Joseph and Frank’s heads swivel in unison at the sound of the shotgun animated so clearly in my head and I’ll probably be thinking about it the rest of the day. Well done!