Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Monkey Business (no more)

Nov 24, 2015. ~2PM. I am stirred from my sleep by some noise in the house. 
It is a delayed reaction, and my being comes to a sufficient amount of waking and cognitive sensory processing only 5 minutes later. The noise is still there. A low moan strikes my ears, the location of whose origin seems to be right outside my bedroom door (that opens to the balcony). It sounds familiar… like rhesus monkeys. Some of ‘em are probably inside right now.

Stepping off the bed, I cautiously strain my neck to see what beastiary my dining space - where the food is, the fridge is, adjacent to which is the kitchen - now boasts. A lone russet figure sits busy on the table. I am more of a surprise to it than the other way round. It is startled, and gives me a hate look. [Threat display is a behavior every being in nature often uses to defend themselves from aggression, more like an open declaration of hostility, beyond which things will be hella different from the different situation that has already occurred].

I step away from the general access path from the dining to the balcony, via the gallery. I watch it scurry out - and reunite with a baby monkey; and hence end our trifle confrontation. 
It turned out to be a female monkey, a mother, foraging for her child. Both of them now sit huddled outside, on the balcony. I rush to close the balcony grille, and successfully manage to.

Then a gander through my dining. The place is clear - there are no other monkeys. Examination tells, there hasn’t been any destruction at the table. The fridge is open, but all its contents seem intact. The kitchen hadn’t been touched - my sleep lasted a bit short than its expectations. She was a mother that put herself at a great risk for her child, to make out with (apparently) nothing.

Then the answer - that she could find no food in the house, or nothing that qualified as “food” to her. There isn’t a single natural food in my home. An old rotten orange, that she tried to bite into, lies on the table - the lone extant fruit in our household that is used for erecting incense sticks. I feel ashamed.

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