I took a job working at the local zoo and was put in charge of taking care of the monkeys, apes and chimpanzees. What they say about flinging poo is mostly a myth though it does happen from time to time.

One day, I stumbled upon a sick monkey whose name was Lewis, named after Mordecai Lewis, the world famous British monkographer. It was really quite an inopportune time to be having a sick monkey as the zoo was facing a serious financial problem and was going to have a hard time paying for its treatment.

Initially, the monkey was taken to the zoo's sick ward as the laypeople know it and it was determined that it had contracted a parasite from a bad batch of Guatemalan plantains. Most of the plantains had been caught and quarantined before they reached the animals' feeding chambers, however a few snuck through and apparently Lewis ate at least one of them.

Initially, the zoo called the plantain provider in an effort to get their insurance to pay for the primate's medication and treatment, however their insurance flat out refused. The zoo, recognizing the massive court fees it would incur if it tried to use the judicial system to force the insurance company to pay, decided to let it be at that.

Lewis was given a few doses of generic penicillin, oxyceridone and terephthalate and was improving in health, however it would require at least three weeks of recovery time to fully get well and be ready to re-enter the zoo's general population. 

The zoo took care of it for two weeks, but then a bombshell fell on it and it quickly had to sell of thousands of dollars of assets, including a huge part of its recovery ward--which, coincidentally is where Lewis was staying. 

They had nowhere to put Lewis and were considering putting him to sleep, which I thought was a bit extreme. So, I offered to bring him home with me (he only needed one more week of recovery). They originally demurred, as that would be illegal (I was not licensed to directly take care of exotic primates at the time), but eventually they gave me the okay and let me take Lewis home. Somehow, I got coaxed into taking home another monkey (which I hadn't originally planned to do) named Fillidge (it's a dumb name, he was named after Jonathan Fillidge, who worked with Mordecai Lewis from 1924 to 1937), who was another monkey who had ingested some bad plantains.

So, I brought home the two monkeys, who both were one week away from complete recovery. The first five days went well, with them mostly resting and occasionally playing together. On the sixth day, they were feeling much better and were getting anxious as they wanted to return home to the zoo. I had to put them in cages for the first time as they were beginning to act a little wild, and they really didn't like that at all. 

On the seventh day, I stepped out of the house to buy some groceries with my grandmother (who was staying with me for a couple weeks as her house was being renovated; I call her "mama"...long story) and when I came back I heard some monkey screams coming from my sleeping quarters. Somehow, the primates escaped from their respective cages and were in my room, jumping up and down on my mattress and going completely crazy. 

I told Mama to sit in the living room while I went to check out the ruckus. I opened the door and there they were, hopping up and down like wild...well...animals. Fillidge had picked up a knick knack off my bed stand and when he saw me come in, he chucked it at my head, hitting me right between the eyes. It hurt really bad and I must have yelled an audible "ow" because my grandma ran in to see what was up. She saw me bleeding and though I knew it wasn't that bad, she overreacted like old women do and insisted  she call the doctor for me. So...

Mama called the doctor and the doctor said, "No more monkeys jumping on the bed."