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“I don’t care …”

“Well, it’s Alphus.”

“Alphus?”

“He’s the chimp that has been living at Sign House. You know, the one who got loose about year ago.”

“The one that killed and ate what’s-her-name’s dog?”

“Right. Well, it seems that the young woman, the deaf one, the one that took care of him, is getting married. And he really is a remarkable animal. I mean, there’s no way, really, we can put him back in the Pavilion …”

“What are you trying to say.”

“I’m saying that he may have to spend some time here.”

“In our house?”

“Yes.”

“For God’s sake …”

“Diantha, listen, he’s not …”

“You’re going to have that ape living in our house …?”

“It’s not …”

“Norman, did you see what he did to that little dog …”

“Yes, but …”

“You want to subject Elsie and me to that … that animal?”

“Diantha, I’m looking for an alternative situation. It will only be for a short time …”

“God, Norman, sometimes I think you’re just weird.” And hung up. Or punched off. Or whatever people do these days to disconnect.

That’s it, I thought. I made my way up the stairs. I was going to let the poor creature know that he couldn’t stay. But there he was in his little room, sitting at the table on a chair I had provided for him, bent over his laptop and slowly, painfully, with one finger, tapping out a message to someone.

Over the next few days, I found living with Alphus to be both more challenging and more rewarding than I could have envisioned. To start with basics, I would like to report that he keeps himself very well groomed. He likes to shower and I’m sure the electric bill will reflect the amount of time he spends using the blow-dryer. He goes through a lot of shampoo and other toiletries. Not long after his arrival here, I found that a bottle of expensive cologne that I keep in the bathroom, a gift from Diantha, had been nearly depleted. Small wonder he has been shuffling around the house smelling like a royal pimp.

At meals he sits at the table and dines with a knife and fork. He likes his steak rare, but is perfectly happy with pasta and the house tomato sauce with lots of cheese on top. He is capable of making himself a respectable sandwich, which he eats carefully, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. But it will be awhile before I let him use the stove unattended.

Alphus is a voracious and eclectic reader, and he often has the television on with the sound off while dipping in and out of a book. Yesterday I came home to find him watching something called the Jerry Springer show while perusing Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy. He was quite taken by the antics of Mr. Springer’s guests, two obese white women fighting over an equally obese black man. “Look, look!” he gesticulated. “They’re worse than chimpanzees!”

He spends a lot of time listening to classical music when he doesn’t have the television on. He is particularly taken with Schubert, especially his chamber music. The String Quartet in D can move him to tears, or his equivalent thereof. He has one of those pod devices barely larger than a deck of cards into which he has packed hours of music, which he plays through a set of small but powerful speakers. At the same time it is unnerving to see him bend over and lope along on all fours.

He certainly has a mind of his own. For one thing, he is not nearly as tolerant as one might expect. He has a low opinion of dogs — “fawning curs” he spelled out for me on his laptop. And he is downright bigoted about gorillas. “They have no class. They are the primate equivalent of bovids. What have they ever contributed to the world? All they do is sit around eating vegetation and shitting. Koko gets all that attention, but she’s nothing special.”

When I gently suggested that people might say the same thing about chimpanzees, he grew visibly indignant. “You must be joking. Chimps played a leading role in the American space program. Not only that, but we have made our mark in Hollywood and in other forms of entertainment. The advance of modern medicine is impossible to imagine without our participation. After elephants, we are the most visited exhibit