"Mischief"

by Kendra Lester

Part 3 - Monkey gets a name

My vet though diligently searching, still had not located a knowledgeable primate vet in our one-horse town or anyplace close by. So after much backward and forward discussion, we decided the best course of action would be to improve her diet and see what happened from there.  I added citrus fruits, bananas, potatoes, pastas, melons, and chicken, in fact I tried to give her a diet as close to our's as possible.  I figured that a primate was about as close to human as you could get, so common sense ruled here.  Each time I fed I tried extending the food from my hand to her's.  On the days she wouldn't take my offerings, I just pulled the old wooden rocker close to her cage and waited while she ate.  Sometimes I talked love-talk to her, sometimes I just shared the silence.  But, day by day, week by week Monkey started coming closer and closer to me. Not always scooting away when I tried touching her.  Sometimes looking me in the face, with the most questioning look, as if to ask "who are you, will you hurt me too?" Then the red-letter day came; I was reaching for her as she was reaching out to touch me.  Her hands were gentle and questing, more like she was trying to find out who I was by touch.  I sat as still as possible, though my heart was racing a hundred miles an hour, as she moved her hands over my hands, arms and then onto my face.  The sounds she made were gentle ooohhs and she pursed her lips as she studied me.  We had finally crossed that first bridge of trust.  She wanted to be closer to me and I knew I was aching to be closer to her.  So I threw common sense and caution to the wind, closed all the doors, removed the lock and chain, and left her cage door partly ajar.  Cautious, amber eyes watching my every movement. Her door now standing ajar, she approached with a slow, unanxious movement, very nonchalantly. Eyeing the door like it might bite her and then extending first one arm, then her foot, out the door she came.  There was no running or jumping, or screaming just a slow, timid, scooting approach.  The weeks of better food and vitamins had clearly improved her coat, and she had fleshed out some. But her muscles were weak and almost useless from lack of use.  The fact that she used them to scoot and move around somewhat told me they were still functional, if I could get her to exercise them.  I waited for her to approach and when she did she placed her hand in mine, I about died. I sat there and made my poor-baby sounds and then I took her hand and helped her up into my lap.  Not once did she act like she shouldn't be there and when she settled in, we sat with my arms wrapped around her and hers holding on to me and we just rocked.  I rocked, talked and cried, tears streaming down my face. Every once in a while she would look up at me, this glimmer of a love light there and I would just about burst. We spent our evening just rocking and cuddling until her eyes got droopy, then without a sound she climbed down, scooted to her cage, got her blanket and laid down to sleep.

Day by day we worked on her strength.  I dusted off the old baby pull toys, the noisy bubble walker and the clanking big wheel.  Each one selected in the hopes that it might make her curious enough to try standing or pulling herself up. Each new toy shared with her in hopes that it would light those sparkling, amber eyes up.  I was entranced by her excitement and her ability to find enjoyment in the most mundane things.  Since she was a monkey I thought a plush, brown, stuffed monkey would be a toy to die for.  So in my naiveté, I presented it to her, a treasure laid before a queen.  And just like royalty she chunked into a corner, given me clearly disdainful looks.  My lowly self clearly got the message and the next offering was a darling baby doll, all dressed in pink ruffles, long blond ringlets and soft pink lips.  She gave me a look that clearly asked "what was I thinking offering a stuffed monkey to this little lady?" This doll was held clutched to her chest as she chirped her happy sounds. 

In time, she started to crawl better, using her legs a little more. But still I wanted more out of life for her.  On this particular sunny day, I had stopped at a roadside flea market and found a little girl's kitchen set; pink sink, stove and refrigerator, complete with dishes.  Just the thing all modern monkey girls needed.  I set it up in her play area and in what seemed like mere moments, she was banging the metal dishes around, putting shiny, silver pots on her head and just being silly.  The mischief dancing from her large, chestnut eyes and then it hit me like a bolt of lightening, her name shouldn't be "Monkey", that was too boring and obvious.  As she played with total abandon, now the true monkey girl was shinning through.  Her absolute delight in her playthings and life itself, her sprite-like facial expressions and happy chatterings demanded a different name, her name would be "Mischief".  I called it softly and then a little more firmly and she lifted up her head and just grinned at me.  Yeap, I think she liked it too.

But this was to be another milestone, another red-letter day in our lives. While I was saying Mischief this and Mischief that, she was pulling herself up to reach all the neat knobs on the sink and stove.  Granted her legs were shaky and not very strong, and she sat back down quicker than she got up. The length of the stand didn't matter at all, what mattered was she had wanted something bad enough to stand and reach for it. I knew that was only the beginning of things to come for she and I!!!!  It was like that song "the future was so bright, we would need sunglasses."

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