Yo ho ho and bottle of jam

Another day, another daring raid on an unsuspecting campsite by the Pirate of Pretoriuskop (aka out resident band of limbless, moral-less, tail-less scavenging vervet monkies.

 

Ouma (grandma) and her brood set up camp next door in a caravan and camping trailer.  Ouma laid out her kitchen (for some indescribable reason - perhaps dementia) in the annex of her caravan, instead of inside the trailer home itself.

 

Perhaps she assumed that by putting all her condiemnts in tiny, palm-sized tupper ware containers the contents would have been safe...

 

They swung from the trees, they crawled throught the undergrowth.  Withing seconds the booty was disappearing.  From the branches above came the sound of the patented tupperware burp (or was the monkeys) as kids came off.

 

What couldn't be eaten - the flour and the bisto instant gravy mix, for example - was scattered over the annex and Ouma's grandchildren's tents.  Scorched earth, pirate style.

 

Mrs Blog and I raced over to try and save some stuff, but, of course, we were too late.

 

No-Tail, one of the ringleaders, along with Blue Balls and the Priate King, One-arm-One-leg, had grabbed a jar of Ouma's home-made jam.  The jar, however, was too big and heavy for him to carry in one grubby, sticky paw, so he was using two hands.  This nesessitated him walking upright, like a tiny humanoid, on the his read legs.  I chased him and he made it a few steps of the tree, precariously balancing on his spindly legs and carrying the jam.

 

Was I witnessing evolution?  From primate to humanoid thief?  Darwinianism with a twist... survival of the naughtiest?

 

No-tail dropped the jam and climbed away, disappointment twistiing his twisted little black face.

 

When it was over, all that was left was a fine mist of flour and gravy powder... and a small brown turd, already covered with flies, sitting on the pressed tablecloth, next to Ouma's microwave.