Skeletons in my closet? None! But I do have a dead monkey in my freezer..

Just look at that sweet, little face.

Telling people you have a dead monkey in your freezer isn't the greatest way to make friends. I've learned that the hard way. But this story isn't about me and my naivety. It's about a wonderful Marmoset named Marmie. 

I'm not going to lie, Marmie and I had our ups and downs, but I learned to like that little monkey. I would even say that we became friends.

Marmie was one of three Marmosets owned by my previous employers (I worked at a camp with a zoo, and it was the most awesome job ever, but more on that later..). She was purchased to be the mate for Meeko, the big daddy Marmoset with an attitude (a mate-raping, ball-flashing, urine-rubbing, ear-nipping attitude).  I was little worried that he was going to be a jerk to her, but surprisingly enough, Marmie put him in his place. Sometimes she did that a little too well.

Long story short, Marmie kinda became the new big daddy Marmoset with an attitude (and an appetite.. she was kind of a pig). We even thought she was a dude for a while. Then some kind of freak accident happened (after separating the two bickering lovers!), and Marmie broke her back and became paralyzed. Yep. She was a paraplegic monkey.

When we first noticed her dragging her back legs, we thought Marmie might be pregnant, and the growing baby was pinching a nerve or something. This seemed to make sense because she ate so much, and it did look like her abdomen was becoming larger. So that was cool. Until we found out we were wrong.

Marmie couldn't go to the bathroom, and her poop/pee was just collecting inside of her. So we weren't completely wrong about the pregnancy... she just had a poop/pee baby instead of monkey baby. Kinda gross, I know. We learned that riding around in vehicles made her poop and gently squeezing her bladder made her pee, so Marmie became a very high maintenance monkey (as if monkeys aren't high maintenance enough).

My boss took care of her for a while after we found out what was wrong with her, but soon, the camp-owning family went on vacation for a month, and left Marmie in my care. Things were going great. She was starting to eat well again, she seemed happy and alert, and she was even starting to go to the bathroom on her own. And we got pretty tight, that monkey and I. I mean, she still tried to bite me when I had to squeeze out her pee, but any other time, we were cool. She really liked watching tv with me.

And then she died. On her back with eyes wide open and her cute little hands clutching her blanket. No warning. No indication of deteriorating health. And so, feeling shocked, sad, and disappointed, I sealed her up in a ziplock bag and froze her.

She is frozen for a completely logical reason, I assure you: to preserve her body for a necropsy. I just haven't gotten around to doing it yet... so in my freezer she remains until it is time to thaw her out, cut her open, and find out why she died.

RIP Marmie. I miss you, your ear-piercing shrieks, and your creepy, baby food-lapping tongue. 

(My better judgement suggested that I should probably not include a postmortem picture of her. You're welcome.)