Month: November 2019

Mo never got to know his older monkey brother, Kong, but he grew up with his human brother and a menagerie of strays and rescues that were adopted, more or less unofficially, by the family. Having gone through his Houdini phase and retaining his reputation as a master escape artist, Mo did not get to exercise the freedoms that Kong had enjoyed. Unfortunately, for his own safety, Mo’s time in his cage involved lids, doors, trays, and food/water containers that were bread-wired shut. Since he had learned to unsnap his leash from his belt, unbuckle his belt, shimmy it off over his hips and tail, and (when really bored) chew through his belt, it was difficult for him to accompany the family in public without strict supervision. (Kong had been quite the socializer in his day.) One year, when a blizzard felled an ice-heavy tree across the end of our front road, we had to evacuate. (No electricity; hence, no heat — and three humans, one monkey, two cats, and two dogs could only generate so much body heat under the covers together). We had to coax Mo under a blanket, then (because he was, of course, leashless) hold onto his tail to get him to the getaway vehicle (an old pickup that was parked on the street behind us and, luckily, had a bed full of heavy snow to give us traction). On the way to the truck we had to keep pulling little furry hands off the icy shrubs Mo was trying to grab. He managed to get to his destination safely and spent a couple of days under an overturned laundry basket that was weighted down on top, again to ensure his safety. 

Despite being a rather cantankerous individual, Mo generally got along well with his animal housemates.  Well, maybe not the cats.  PomPom, a large scruffy rescue guy, pretty much ignored him; however, Gimpy (another rescue) enjoyed sports such as chasing blue jays in tree limbs outside the second story windows and thought he was dauntless…except when it came to Mo.  Gimpy’s way of “managing” Mo was to vigorously beat up the throw rug, then hide behind the armchair and peek around to see if the monkey was still watching him.  Mo, of course, would just hang on the side of his cage and shriek, totally intimidating tough guy Gimpy.  (We had found Gimpy limping through our yard one day with a mangled foot and, unable to locate an owner, took him to the vet who offered to treat him for no charge if we would agree to give him a good home.  Hence, his name….obviously before the days of political correctness.  As evidenced by his blue jay-chasing activities, he recovered just fine.)    

Mo’s relationship with the dogs tended to be a playful one.  He would pounce on them when given a chance, just for the joy of startling them.   He had the advantage of being able to climb curtains to evade them if they tried to retaliate.  Mo also delighted in getting into the kitchen cupboards and throwing snack packages onto the floor for the dogs (Chickie and Schultzie).   Visiting our house could be an adventure at times. 

Unlike Kong, Mo was not an apple guy.  His favorite foods were bananas and monkey chow.  Monkeys actually also love insects, and he loved the outdoors (when we could leash him) for the sport of catching bugs and snacking on them.  Somehow squirrel monkeys seem to know how to avoid poisonous treats…or else they were just plain lucky.   When Kong came to live with us, he was sent with a tub of mealworms that we were told to store in the refrigerator.  Being very young and averse to insects of any kind, I refused to put them in the fridge and instead put them in a drawer.  Big mistake!  Apparently, being cold keeps them alive but lulls them to sleep.  Hence, they stay in the container dormant….as opposed to, say, eating their way out of the container because they are warm, active, and bored.  Lesson learned quickly! 

More Mo and the Menagerie stories to come….and the little sister, Edith Anne. 

Mo came home with a roommate. The plan was for Mo to share a tallish cage with an Abyssinian long-haired guinea pig, a cute little guy with tufts and cowlicks. Mo would live in the upper section, the guinea pig would be in the bottom area, and the two would become good buddies. That was the plan. Reality soon proved otherwise. The guinea pig expressed his aversion to sharing by biting Mo’s tail (and we learned from Kong that monkey tails are rather sensitive). Mo would, in turn, rip out fistfuls of the guinea pigs long hair. and so began the saga of Mo’s need to establish Alpha-maleness in his relationships with other household inhabitants.

As the roomie arrangement was not working, the guinea pig soon moved out, leaving the entire cage to Mo. Since Kong had been so friendly and amiable, we decided to leash Mo to the top of his cage, leave the lid off, and allow him to go in and out (similarly to Kong’s accommodations on his little red stool). Mo enjoyed this freedom tremendously. However, we had two dogs at the time, Georgeanne who was a shepherd mix and Chico (otherwise known as “Chickie-poo” or just Chickie), a little beagle-ish fellow. Georgie and Chickie were, of course, curious about the new guy on the cage and would come to sniff around and make friends (and scope out the possibility of snacking on a monkey chow if one strayed outside the cage). Mo handled this attention by a) pinching the dogs’ lips and/or b) pulling their eyelids, all the time feigning innocence by looking at me straight in the eye with an “I-don’t-know-what-my-hand-is-doing” expression on his sweet little face. The dogs quickly learned not to mess with Mo.

Eventually a third canine housemate joined us, a boxer pup named Schultz. Mo was extremely frustrated with this situation because Schultz was a dauntless marauder. He would come in, knock over the cage, and steal monkey chow right out from under Mo. Mo was at a loss because his usual modus operandi was totally ineffective. Try to pinch the lip on a boxer. Lips all over the place. Doesn’t phase them. And….ever find an eyelid on a boxer? Nope! Just big bulging eyes. With no recourse to manage Schultz’s impudent behavior, Mo spent a few weeks in serious pout mode. Until….the ultimate opportunity. Schultz had gotten his ears clipped, as boxers do, and, after the bandages came off, the first time he got within a leash length of the monkey cage, Mo jumped on his head and chomped him right in the stitches. Schultz never stole another monkey chow. Situation resolved.

Mo, who was clever like his older sib Kong had been, embarked on a career as an escape artist akin to Harry Houdini, renowned for freeing himself from shackles and straight jackets while in boxes under water. Mo’s leash was a lightweight cat leash attached to a lightweight cat collar cinched around his tiny waist as a belt. (Squirrel monkeys, as adults, generally weigh about 16-20 ounces and are quite skinny.) Mo first figured out how to shimmy out of the belt. He would stretch as tall as he could, thereby thinning out his body circumference (much like Kong when diving for tomatoes in the grocery) and wiggle the belt off over his hips and tail. A rather annoying trait when the human parents want to maintain a sense of tranquility in the household instead of, say, chaos. He further began to figure out how to manipulate the belt to unfasten it. And honed his skills even more by learning to unhook the leash from the belt. Mo, of course, would then get into all kinds of mischief, so mommy had to take dire measures and secure him inside the cage with the lid fastened. Guess what!! He learned to a) jimmy the lid, b) jimmy the tray on the bottom, c) unsnap the door, d) remove the food and water dishes, and e) bend the bars apart to get out and wreak havoc. (A favorite sport was getting into the cupboards and throwing his human brother’s snacks on the floor so the dogs could get them.) Finally, when I could not successfully contain him, I opened the basement door, threw a banana (his favorite) down the steps, and, when he went after it, banished him to the basement until we could get a cage that would hold him. Since he had the run of the basement and all the spider snacks he could find, he was relatively satisfied with the temporary arrangement. And, through all this, we loved him despite his incorrigibility!!! We quickly located a secure new cage that would keep him (and the household) safe during the times that he needed to be contained.

More Mo stories to come soon.