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.