Were-Monkey

Our town has a railroad track which has been blocking the flow of Main Street traffic for decades. For as many years, people have been saying the train is going to prevent someone from getting to the hospital one of these days. The railroad people claim the train can clear the tracks quicker on its regular schedule than they can stop it and separate the cars. So far, I don't think anyone has died while waiting for the train to rumble through town.

One day when the kids were small, we were held up by the train as we were leaving town. Traffic had backed up a couple of blocks with the train just sitting there. 

It was hot, the kids were hungry, and they were fussing at each other in the back seat. One block to the left lies an establishment we've never visited. This might be the day.

"Hey, Daddy. Do you want to spend fifteen minutes in the P-E-T  S-T-O-R-E?" I spelled.

He gave me a horrified look at the same time a particularly loud altercation arose from behind.

"Sure."  He wheeled away from the line of hapless motorists and drove to the pet store.

I had been afraid we'd find kittens and puppies, guppies and gerbils in the shop. We already had plenty of cats and dogs on the farm. I had no intention of letting any beseeching little faces talk me into house pets whose care would fall on me.

Fortunately, the shop, which emitted a distinctly animal aroma, was fresh out of cuddly varieties. There was a python in a glass aquarium. Since Daddy is terrified of snakes, they knew not to ask. We also saw two monkeys. One was in a glass enclosure, and the other was in a wire cage.

I got the impression that the glass was to protect the public from the monkey. I didn't see any warning signs on any of the cages. Little did I know.

We were looking around, with me wondering how lucrative a pet store could be, when I noticed my three-year-old daughter peering at the monkey in the wire cage. Before I could say, "Honey, don't stick your fingers in that cage," she already had.

A remarkably fast monkey leaped across the cage and latched onto her little index finger like it was an appetizer for the mid-day meal. She let out a howl and jerked her hand back. Fortunately, all of it was still attached.

The proprietor assured us the animal had all its vaccines and scolded us for not watching our children. We could hear the train moving and decided we'd seen all we needed at the pet store. On the way home, we discussed whether we should take her to the doctor/emergency room. Instead, we decided to stop at Grandma's house and put some antibiotic and a band-aid on her finger. 

Within a day we learned that monkey had bitten practically everyone in the county who had visited the store. I thought it was reasonable to wonder why the attack monkey wasn't the one behind glass.

She didn't get sick, or lose her finger, or have nightmares about being bitten. However, until she turned nine or ten, she grew a long tail and swung from the light fixtures during a full moon. At least, that's what her daddy told her.