I am Monkey. A few years ago I was plucked from a basket of stuffed animals and adopted by a large striped grey cat named Gil Pender (named after Owen Wilson’s character in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris). Gil Pender is a sensitive feline who is, as his vet diagnosed him, very maternal. It’s like he believes himself to be the leader of a pride of lions. Since the three humans in our house don’t always respond to his efforts to be herded into one room, (although a fair bit of the time they do) Gil Pender adopted me, a stuffed monkey with very long gangly limbs and a compliant manner. If I remember correctly, I am the 7th Monkey. My re-generation occurs very much like Doctor Who – every so often my old tired body exits and a new version appears. After re-generation occurs, I am the same Monkey, just a different color. I’m sure he’s noticed, but Gil Pender has politely never mentioned it.
Gil Pender takes very good care of me and always leaves me in very purposeful places. None of the following photos were staged. Gil Pender dropped me off in all these places for good reason:
No one is going to mess with me when I’m in the lap of this ginormous bear.
Two times Gil Pender left me in the care (and on the leg) of the lady of the house.
When Gil Pender is splitting his time between the first and second floors, I’ll be safely located halfway up the staircase.
When there’s no people around, I’m always given the whole couch to myself. Gil Pender sleeps in a nearby chair.
And this time I was dropped off in an upstairs bedroom with The Lady of the House because The Man of the House was watching a very loud, very violent horror movie. Not appropriate for Monkeys, I guess. Maybe when I’m older.
I get the feeling that Gil Pender’s protective adoption of me is not a common occurrence amongst household pets. In a world filled with reports of neglect and loneliness I thought my story might be worth recording.