Some say monkeys play piano well

“Monkey?” Keenan said, his voice squeaking in disbelief. He gave Bertram a doubtful look. “You sure you don’t mean some sort of ape? Like – like a chimpanzee or an orangutan?” He’d heard that some apes were smart enough to be trained in simple tasks. Monkeys made him think of the little animals that danced around while their own played those windup organs.

“I’m quite certain he said monkeys, Keenan,” he said. He adjusted his glasses and added, “He may have meant it in the figurative sense, though.”

Keenan blinked, the image of a monkey seated at a piano bench shattered in his mind. “Figuratively?” he repeated.

“Some people refer to their children in all manner of colorful terms,” Bertram said, nodding. “You call your eldest daughter a pumpkin, right? No one thinks she’s actually a gourd.”

Chuckling, Keenan nodded. “So, maybe, he said the little monkey was going to play the piano, but he meant that six year old imp he had scurrying all around the room?”

“Exactly,” Bertram said, smiling faintly.

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