The New Noah by Gerald Durrell Read Free Book Online Page A

exception of his long tail, he would fit very comfortably into a teacup, and then leave a certain
amount of room to spare. His fur was a peculiar shade of green, and he had a very nice white shirt front; his head, like those of most baby monkeys, seemed much too big for his body and it was the
same greenish colour, except for his cheeks, which were a bright buttercup yellow. But the most astonishing thing about him was the broad curved band of white fur across his upper lip, which made
him look exactly as though he possessed a big moustache. I had never seen anything quite so ridiculous as this tiny monkey wearing this enormous Santa-Claus–like decoration on his face.
    For the first few days, Footle lived in a basket by my bed with other baby animals, and had to be fed with milk from a feeding bottle. The bottle was about twice his size, and he used to fling
himself on it with cries of joy when it arrived, stuff the end into his mouth, and wrap his arms and legs round it firmly, so that I could not take it away before he had finished. He would not even
let me hold the bottle for him, presumably in case I stole any of the contents, and so he would roll about on the bed with it clutched in his arms, looking just as if he were wrestling with an
airship. Sometimes he would be on top, sometimes the bottle, but whether he was on top or underneath, Footle would still suck away at the milk, his moustache jerking up and down with the
effort.
    He was a very intelligent little monkey and it was not very long before he had learned to drink his milk out of a saucer but as soon as this had been mastered, his table manners became simply
frightful. I would put him on the table to be fed, and when he saw me approaching with the saucer he would work himself up into a frenzy of impatience, jumping up and down with excitement and
screaming at the top of his voice. Hardly was his meal on the table, than he would without any hesitation dive head first into it. There would be a great shower of milk and he would sit in the
centre of it and duck his head under the surface, only coming up when he could not hold his breath any longer. Occasionally, in his greed, he would wait too long and come up sputtering and sneezing
out milk like a fountain. It used to take me a good half an hour to dry him after every meal, for by the time he had finished, he would look as though he had been bathing in the milk instead of
drinking it.
    I decided that this could not go on, for Footle was fed five times a day and, as he got soaked each time, I was frightened that he might catch a chill.
    I thought that the reason for his excitement was that he could see the milk coming when he was sitting on the table, so I tried a new way of feeding him. I put the saucer on the table first and
then carried Footle to it. The first time I did this, he saw the milk when he was still some way off and, uttering a shrill squeal of joy, he jumped out of my hands, shot through the air very
gracefully, and landed in the centre of the milk with a splash. Of course, the saucer was overturned and both Footle and I were drenched.
    After this, I tried holding him while he drank, and this was a trifle more successful. He used to wriggle and scream with rage because I would not let him dive into the milk as though it were a
swimming pool, and sometimes he would succeed and struggle free, plunging in before I could stop him. But on most occasions, this method worked well and he remained reasonably dry, except of course
for his face. I was unable to stop him pushing that into the milk, and when he came up for air his face would be so white with cream that you could not tell where his moustache began and ended.
    When Footle was not eating, he loved to cling to something. All baby monkeys, when they are that age, usually cling to the soft fur of their mother as she wanders through the trees. Footle,
having adopted me as his mother, seemed to think that it was only right that he