A monkey and his tiny slacks.

October 11, 2006

Cat choking

I used to have a monkey named “Pawtucket”. He’d comb my hair, sing me songs, and tell me long rambling stories of his people. I didn’t want him initially; he was prescribed by doctor who always hated me, claimed due to certain conditions it was unsafe for me to live alone. In spite of his origins I came to respect his folksy wisdom and tiny grasping hands.

Pawtucket and I grew thick as thieves in no time. We were indivisible; “Look, here comes Paw.J” they would say, both of tricked out in black slacks and tight t-Shirts, strutting around giving people the business. Often we would bring our wagon out into the neighbourhood, taking turns pulling each other about, until he’d fill it full of the cats he’d strangled and we’d have to ditch it in gully until the heat died down. Man, that monkey could choke a cat all day just like peeling a peach. Can’t say’s I approved of it, being a cat fancier, but we all have our vices.

The same doctor, who hated me, eventually demanded my monkey chum’s return. Claimed Pawtucket and I’s relationship had grown “Septic and mutually enabling”. Now I don’t know anything about doctoring, but I do know if you want to take a mans monkey you better come in swinging with both hands. The doctor, who hated me, had never learned that particular homily, so our rather strenuous objection caught him off guard. I’m not man to kick and tell so I’ll spare you the details; but our wagon carried more than cats that night. In retrospect this somewhat reactionary decision may have impaired my medical progress.

Over the course of the next few months Pawtucket and I’s relationship began to deteriorate. His constant lies, petty theft, and fire breathing gradually alienated me. (He may have been lying about the fire breathing.) He started running with a bad crowd; Jim Jim the one eyed massage pony, that kid down the hall who never held the door open for me, and a Lemur named “Stab master Pluto”. I tried my best to re-establish our bond but that bastard monkey had become so cold and dismissive. The last straw was the day I came home to find that filthy Pony wearing my glasses and using my Razor. When I asked him to stop he danced about mimicking me in his nasal horsey voice. Pawtucket just laughed, it was too much. Also the Lemur stabbed me twenty times. It was decided that we should go our separate ways.

I never saw Pawtucket again after that day. The wounds, both emotional and physical, have mostly healed. I would like to think it was weakness rather than cruelty that informed his actions. It’s hard to say really. In my more honest moments I can see that Pawtucket flaws were always there, yet I chose to see him as more than he was in the hopes it would make it true. The last news I heard he was on tramp steamer to Costa Rica, one step ahead of the law. I hope he still has his tiny slacks, they looked really good on him.


10 Responses to “A monkey and his tiny slacks.”

  1. Pawtucket Says:


    I hope this letter finds you well. I can see you still have your methods of keeping up with a monkey on the go, but Costa Rica was so long ago. I’ve found (as I’m certain you can testify) that being one step ahead of the law is at least two steps too few. Certain ‘authorities’ have attempted to classify my travel throughout the western world as trafficking in biohazardous materials, and as such required my staging of our rather unpleasant farewell.

    My slacks, though somewhat timeworn and threadbare in places, are still as comfortable as the day we bought them from Panama Jack. I attempt to keep them as presentable as possible, as I remember what you said: “You look sharp, monkey. You look sharp, and no one can touch you.” I realise now that may have been less a commentary on my appearance and social graces than it was on my tiny knives, but I’m certain at least part of you regarded me in that manner.

    I know I hurt you with the way I left. God, I think about it every day. Lying in the bottom of a raft in the South China sea — really, an old bathtub and some shipping crates — I found myself hallucinating the apology you deserve; The apology you’ve deserved for all these years. But I also imagined the cold gloss to your eyes, and the biting edge in your voice as you told me that you’d moved on. I cried, A.J. I cried into the bosom of a Vietnamese refugee for what seemed like days. It was only as I watched that last glimmer of hope trickle out of his eyes, like the last drops of blood from his delicious, delicious children that I came to terms with my betrayal, and set myself on my current path: Seek your forgiveness, and that twenty bucks you owe me.

    I can only hope that my deception has spared you the wrath of my brothers, and pray that enough time has passed to ensure your continued welfare.

    I love you, A.J., and I always have. I also took all your Subway Sub Club stamps, but it was before the thing with Pluto.

    Please send twenty dollars,

    Pawtucket P. Rumblemonkey

  2. Oh Pawtucket, your words are as poisonously sweet as those scorpion meringue pies you used to bake me [1]. It’s nice to know your tongue is still soaked in honey, and your paws in blood. A wiser man would just tear this letter up, then again a wiser man would probably not mistake electronic correspondence for the physical kind, either way I find myself waxing nostalgic and prone to forgive your youthful indiscretion. It’s hard not to be swayed by a massage pony, and someone with your lower back problems would be especially susceptible to his charms.

    In short, monkey, I can forgot our troubled past and move forward. I cannot however call off the poachers I set on your trail, as I have already paid the tax on their fee and it would throw off all my tax returns if I had to change anything now.

    I will send the twenty to your Dutch uncle that taught me the “Hapsburg handshake”. Sent him my regards and apologize for the stains on the drapes; what a grand Sunday morning that was.

    Your Home Sapien Associate

    Amander Jacobi Valliant

    [1]I never knew where you found scorpions that could survive that kind of heat, or how you got them so angry, but man those pies were good.

  3. David Kehoe Says:

    “I never knew where you found scorpions that could survive that kind of heat, or how you got them so angry, but man those pies were good. ”

    It’s a true delicacy.

  4. […] I once knew this cruel monkey Pawtucket […]

  5. […] “Choke him top-wise and hide the body,” muttered Pawtucket, tiny hands clenching rhythmically. […]

  6. […] We’re old. Except for The Kenji, he strangles kittens to keep his youthful look. […]

  7. […] Zhang piped up, “Quite predictable, Mr. Valliant, your ways have changed little since out first meeting aboard a Bangkok tramp steamer. Tell me, Mr. Valliant, how is Pawtucket?” […]

  8. Jaden Says:


  9. […] A monkey and his tiny slacks […]

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