My monkey and I are the best of friends. We’ve spent many mornings looking out of the window, making faces at strangers. We’ve spent many afternoons scaring away stray dogs, and throwing pebbles in the pond. We’ve spent many a night looking at stars, wondering if anybody’s looking down on us. We do everything together……….. well, almost everything.

My monkey, who doesn’t have a name, is half as tall as I am. He’s half as old as I am. He’s half as handsome as well. We spend most of our free time throwing fruits at each other; fruits which don’t squash easily. We used to ride my bicycle, but he broke it. His tail was always getting caught in the wheels.

The village cricket team hates me. They call me names and say hurtful things about my parents. I try to avoid them as much as I can, but they always bully me. I think that they’re jealous of me. They want a monkey just like mine.

My monkey brushes its teeth more than I do mine. He loves his toothbrush and is very possessive about it. He hates washing his face, though. And he hates having a bath. People say that he stinks, but I’ve never noticed that. He always smells of lemon to me. That strong, and deeply intoxicating smell.

My cousins love my monkey. They play with him whenever they can. The little one even pulls his tail, but he doesn’t mind. I do feel possessive about him sometimes, but I can’t help that, can I? My monkey and I are the best of friends, but I wish I had a pet duck instead.