His name was Jim

Me and my little monkey.

I did have a monkey or better yet it had me.

A guy I knew got the little bugger for his wife as a pet but she was terrified of it.

Now I had a set of 110 pound weights that after falling across my neck and breaking down a bed I no longer wanted.It was safer being a 96 pound weakling for me.

So a trade was made.

110 pound weights for 3 pounds of pure unadulterated energy and fun.

His name was Jim.Jungle Jim.

Quickly we became buddies.When we where alone Jim was free of his cage and roamed freely.

Like all little kids when they get quiet they are up to something and Jim was no different.

We had this connection.My folks said that Jim would pace his cage and start whistling everyday at the time I would be coming home.Was it coincidence or did he know?

Jim would chase dogs.

Jim was scared of cats.

Jim would sit on my shoulder or lay on my chest whistling me a song while patting my face with those baby sized hands of his.

Jim got sick.

He died in my arms at the vets.I was 18 in a crowd of people I cried.Not ashamed because I had lost a dear friend.

On quiet lonely nights I think his whistling can still be heard.

Jim calling me to play.