The Monkey sat there every day staring, just staring. Squeeks watched from the carpet, tail flipping back and forth lazily.

Squeeks admired its persistence but even a cat's interest in a fat little mouse would wane after a couple of days if it never ventured forth. But the Monkey sat there for hours every day staring at nothing.

—Ee-rupa, ee-rupa, ee-rupa— Squeeks shuddered from end to end as a slimy green hairball came up with breakfast. He made sure to harf it on the Monkey's favorite chair but all the crazed ape did was say, "In a minute, in a minute," while gazing straight ahead. An hour could be more like it. Or a day or three.

The fool was staring into that funny changing light thing. He did that a lot, lately, muttering monkey grunts to himself as he caressed and petted that hard, plastic thing he kept tied to the light-box. Why he was so fond of it Squeeks didn't know. It didn't even have fur and it didn't purr!

And heaven help Squeeks when he wanted a little attention. He might get a distracted swipe of the hand or two while the Monkey continued staring into that light. Soon he'd forget all about the petting. That made Squeeks mad enough to miss the litterbox. It made him sad, too. Squeeks missed those articulated fingers rubbing him by the ears and jowls. Why fingers were wasted on monkeys, Squeeks didn't know. A cat would know what to do with fingers. They sure weren't meant for poking at weird, hard bumpy objects that weren't even comfortable enough to lie upon.

With a sniff Squeeks removed himself to a window. The Monkey had set it up so he could sit there and comfortably look out at all the things he was missing. Squeeks sniffed the air and sighed, butting his head against the screen. Sometimes that worked, if he just leaned all his weight on a corner of it or an edge, it might give tear enough for him to squeeze out for a romp.

Suddenly, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Buck, a cat from across the street. A noise began to rumble from Squeeks as his rival stopped below the window.

"Hello, house cat," Buck sneered.

"Yowl, wow!" Squeeks replied.

Buck was something of a Siamese, which explained his cruel streak. "Why don't you come out here, fancy-boy, and make me?"

"Errr-mrrrrw," Squeeks warned in a low voice, tail fluffed menacingly.

Buck just sat there staring, innocent and unperturbed except for the occasional thump of his tail on the porch floorboards. "Aw, we wouldn't want the little pet to hurt himself, now, would we?"

"Yowl-row!" Squeeks challenged.

"Hey, what the blankety-blank!" The Monkey cursed as he came up from behind. Squeeks was so frustrated he would have bit him except that even the Monkey was smart enough to stay back when Squeeks was mad.

Buck laughed, sniffing the wall beneath the window before leaving his mark. "Oops."

Squeeks watched him go. "Just once," he thought. "Just one time I'd like to get out there and kick his . . ."

"Oh, Squeeks," he heard the Monkey call. "Squeeks, come here." It was the food voice! Squeeks hurriedly dropped off the table by the window and rushed to the kitchen. Sure enough, the Monkey had opened a can of the good stuff and was putting it in a bowl. He even stuck around to pet Squeeks while he ate and the cat started purring.

A Monkey was still good for a few things.

Maturity is knowing that not only does the Emperor have no clothes but that you are the Emperor.

—Farmer Ooka Brown

"C'mere, little chipmunk, c'mere," Squeeks thought as he watched through the screen of the window. "I just want to play with you." Of course play could get a little rough at times but that's why God put so many chipmunks on the earth, isn't it?