Moke is my best friend. People often tell me it’s odd to have an ape as a pet; they tell me it’s weird to eat lunch with a chimpanzee, or to cook special meals for him and pour him coffee after he’s finished. But I always make sure I don’t brew it too strong. Moke has a nervous disposition, and strong coffee wouldn’t do for him at all; he’d jump all over the place and wouldn’t sleep a wink at night. Truth be told, he’s really in it for the sugar. Sometimes he’ll settle for a canard – that’s what we call it when you take a sugar cube and dunk it in the coffee, then suck the liquid from the cube. It’s true that he can’t exactly talk, but his eyes tell you all you need to know – more than most people, actually, for those eyes do not lie, even though Moke is a mischievous sort and has plenty of tricks up his sleeve. I wouldn’t put it past him to feign being sick so he could spend the day in bed and have me bring him hot soup all day. But I see through his games; he can’t get past me so easily these days – I take his temperature any time he pretends to be ill. The thermometer is barely even out of its case before he starts laughing and acting normally again; he knows that I’m no fool, but thought it was worth a try anyway. Moke doesn’t like coming to the park with me, because the children there don’t treat him right. They see him as a circus animal, and don’t want to play with him. A circus animal or a zoo attraction – that’s what they wanted to make of him in St. Louis.
I immediately regretted selling my friend to the St. Louis zoo. I was already far too attached to Moke. I had to go through an endless string of court appeals to get him back; I spent my life savings on lawyer’s fees and bureaucracy, expert opinions and private investigations. They needed to recognise the affection that Moke held for me, and the love that existed between us – people thought such things could only exist between humans. But finally, after years of struggle, the judge recognized the fact that Moke had feelings and I was able to take my friend home. Poor Moke! He’d been traumatised by life in a cage, and it took months before he could be at ease with me once again. At first, when I came near him he turned his head and would not listen to me. He no longer laughed at my jokes. He was in a huff, no doubt. He pretended not to remember all my visits to the zoo, when every week I would bring him bananas and peanuts; when every week I sat by his cage to read him stories and stroke his head.
Today, Moke and I decided to go shopping. I think he’s old enough to wear a tie now. Moke will now be called ‘Mister Moke,’ as is fitting for a chimp his age. Still, it’s not easy to find a store that will help me dress Mr. Moke. When I called around, most people just laughed and hung up. Fortunately, after around fifty heinous interactions I finally found someone to help me. “Of course! We take all comers here. The customer is always right, and we’ll take proper care of Mr. Moke. He can try on anything in our store,” the charming young lady had told him. His friend was excited to go, and had made sure to comb his hair and brush his teeth – he knew it was important to be presentable for the occasion. After all, the last thing he wanted was to be seen as some uncouth ape.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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