I don't like monkeys. I never have liked monkeys and I don't feel a bit guilty about not liking monkeys. My first recollection of monkeys involved the Washington Zoo. My parents took me there when I was about five years old. Of course I had seen pictures of monkeys in books, but they were even uglier in reality than I thought they could be. I remember them grooming. They would take turns picking the bugs off each other and then they would eat them. Perhaps that reinforced my dislike for the critters .

While I was in college in the 1960's, a friend and I rented rooms in the attic of an old house. It was a college town, and many retired people rented parts of their houses to bring in some extra cash. My friend, whom is still a good friend today, had the room on the backside of the attic and I had the one at the front. These two rooms were separated by a short hallway that was also a landing at the front of the last flight of steps up to our rooms. Our bathroom was on the backside of this short hallway. These rooms were three flights up. The woman who rented the house was 83 years old and could cook some of the foulest smelling stuff I ever had waft into my nostrils. We rarely saw her except to pay the weekly rent, but she was a kind lady and we never caused her any problems.

This story takes place in this old house. It was the spring of my sophomore year and I was studying for final exams. There wasn't a desk to work at so, like many college students at the time, I studied in bed. It was convenient because I could read and study until I dozed off. In addition, it was very hot in this old un-insulated house and I had shed all of my clothes in an attempt to stay cool. I was completely naked. I was having difficulty concentrating on my studies when I heard an unidentifiable noise, a sort of banging around all the way at the bottom of the steps. I knew it couldn't be the old lady coming up because she only came up on Saturday when we were gone. I figured it might be my buddy coming home. I tried to get back the book.

Over time, the noise seemed to be getting closer, but at a very slow pace. I debated on whether to get up and check it out, but that would have meant getting dressed and I still assumed it was my friend playing some weird trick on me. We were continuously performing "sneak attacks' against each other. Once he threw a muddy work boot into the tub when I was taking a bath. The slow ascent of the noise transpired for about a half hour.

Finally, the noise was at the top of the last flight of steps. I picked up the biggest book I had in case I needed a "weapon". I knew what ever it was had arrived at the very top step. I looked through the door into the hallway. I was laying on my right side with my right arm bent at the elbow and my head resting in my right hand. Then I saw it. It was a monkey. One of those little ones like an organ grinder has. It was fully clothed. It had on a little red coat, blue pants, and a red hat. It just stood there looking at me, arms at its side with those little bowed legs, and that ugly, little, rubbery, monkey face. We looked at each other and we seemed to communicate. That was scary. Imagine the scene. I was lying in bed completely naked, and this monkey was standing fully clothed, both of us staring at each other. It was like we both knew that something wasn't right about that picture. He should have been naked and I should have had the clothes on. I quickly tired of this creepy situation and heaved the large book I was holding at him. It would have nailed him good but he jumped straight up, landed on his feet and continued to stare at me.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. I covered up with a sheet and waited to see who it was. It was the old lady's son Mort, who had come to visit. He introduced himself to me and told me he was sorry that his monkey had disturbed me. I wasn't very understanding and didn't say much to him except to let him know that I did not like monkeys.