by
Meggy
arty the Monkey is my very own real pet monkey. I am only five years old and on my fifth birthday my mommy and daddy gave me a pet monkey. I don't call him Marty the Monkey. I call him Marty, because sometimes Marty the Monkey is too hard for me to say. But sadly, I can't bring Marty to preschool. Ms. Bridget (who is my teacher) said "no" when I asked her. She said that it was a rule in school not to have monkeys in school. So I leave him at home with my mom who feeds him his milk and bananas. When she goes to work, my babysitter Miss Lauren takes care of him.
We usually let him climb in the tree in our backyard. We let him swing on a little rope and then when I get home he plays with me and we usually climb the tree together, but Miss Lauren has to watch us if we do. Miss Lauren watches us until around 5 o'clock and then my daddy comes home and we eat dinner. My mommy doesn't come home until after dinner,then she eats dinner before I go to bed, and I watch t.v. when she eats dinner. Then Marty and I go to bed, and Marty goes to sleep in his bed,while I go to sleep in mine. Now that you know about me, I can tell you my story. Well, one day, when I was eating my Cheerios these guys knocked on the door. My mom was feeding Marty bananas so she handed him to me while she got a towel, wiped her hands, and opened the door. Two guys, one short and plump and one tall and skinny as a twig were standing there. "We have come to take the monkey away to the zoo. The zoo said you will get a refund or something like that."
Mommy closed the door on us and stepped outside. Marty and I just looked at each other with puzzled looks on our faces. Mommy came back in with a sad look on her face.
"Sarah,I'm sorry but these two nice men outside need to take Marty away and back to the zoo..."
"No! They cannot take him away Mommy, besides, where is he going?" I cried.
I held Marty close to my belly, and Marty ate his banana quietly. I whispered to him that it would be okay. I kissed him on his furry little head and the two men were invited in by my mommy. They came in and the short, plump one came to kneel right in front of me. "We need that monkey, honey, we need to take him back to the zoo. Please hand over the monkey,"
My hands trembled as I gave Marty to him with tears in my eyes. My mommmy picked me up but I slid away, up to my room, crying with tears welling up in my eyes. When I got to my room, I slammed the door behind me, and I jumped on my bed. I stuffed me face into my pillow. I looked next to me. There, on the bedside table, was a picture of Marty and I. I was holding him when he was very little, a few days after the day I got him. I started to cry again as I held the picture in my hands. I got a kleenex and blew my nose. I sniffed and went to my closet. I went through my toy box. I saw a toy monkey. I threw it across the room because I was so mad. Mommy came into my room. I hugged her and she held me the way she did when I was 3 years old. I sobbed into her arms. "Don't they know how much...I...I...care about him?" I said between sobs.
My mom sang me a song that soothed me whenever I cried. It was called "Toy Box" and it was just so jolly and happy that it always made me stop crying. I asked my mommy if I would ever see Marty again. She said we would go to the zoo next week. The next week, when we arrived at the zoo, I immediately dragged my mommy to the monkey place, and I grinned as I saw Marty. Marty jumped on me and I hugged him really tight. A man came up to me. "Are you the owner of this monkey?"
I told him not anymore and he said that I could have him! I jumped for joy! I looked at my mommy, and she told me that she had bought her back. I cried and I took Marty home. I still have him today. And I'm still five years old.
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