I am a monkey. I am nine years old and a robust eight inches tall. I live with the personage known as “the boy”, my best friend Purple (an orangutan) and Cuz (my bookish cousin).

In the year 2005, I hired the woman known as “Mama”, or in some circles known as “Heather Payson”, to be my typist. She is a woman of mystery with many identities and is a shockingly unreliable employee. Nonetheless, she helped me with a blog called “Monkey’s Deep Thoughts”.

I had a small but fiercely loyal readership. The Guardian UK was moved to write about me, "… the fact that he's a small soft toy doesn't seem to have stopped a friendly chap called Monkey from sharing his inner psyche."

I have no idea what they meant by “small soft toy”, but as we know, journalism is dead. “Soft toy” indeed!

monkey typing at keyboardThat blog closed, due to my treacherous typist’s capricious nature. I have since learned to type, which is harder than I had imagined. Furthermore, I have written a book! It is searching for a home with publishers as I labor over this very sentence. Wish me luck. And please… send bananas. Thank you.