The Monkey and the Accountant

I’ve always said that for every monkey you loose you gain an accountant.

Space the capuchin monkey is gone. The Humane Society folks gave up their search and have issued what is the equivalent of an All Points Bulletin to law enforcement officials and to whoever else is supposed to keep an eye out for monkeys.

Phaye’s hand is okay. The doctor gave her antibiotics that I am going to be mother-like about making sure she takes and finishes. When Dirk came in he was horrified that Phaye hadn’t gotten to the emergency room right away when Space bit her. Dirk was bitten by his cat last year and the bite got infected and he was in severe pain for a week; he saw her experience as cat x 100. He looked at the hole in the floor (where Space presumably came in) and has volunteered to fix it. I have no idea how, since it’s a gnawed-out, ragged hole in the middle of the floor. It's not like there's something to glue back into place.

I went to see the accountant I had hired, Bethann, in her office to patch things up with her after Monday’s Who’s-More-Upset-Than-Who competition when she saw Space the monkey and yelled and he heard her yell and jumped across the room and broke the espresso machine. It’s not like I couldn’t find another accountant, but her office is above a self-serve car wash, and you have to admire that.

I have a bad feeling about the way I’m handling the grant money for the Being & Nothingness Cam Project—not in an illegal way, just in an incompetent way. I’m going to end up being flagged by my bank as a drug dealer or something.