Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit

I am not thrilled about performing this high-wire act, but I need to investigate the ape suit. I had noticed that this jeweled jumpsuit included a built-in diaper, which would not have been a bad idea for the original wearer, given the sad state drugs had put him into during his last months. To my expert eye, and I have in the past discovered smuggled diamonds, the stones begemming the suit are purely glass and plastic. I bat at the low-slung seat to see if the built-in diaper is suspiciously heavy. (It would be an excellent hiding-place for smuggled goods, since who is going to inspect a chimp diaper but the keeper?) Nothing but the usual absorbent padding.

And, by the way, if chimpanzees are supposed to be the next thing to human, give or take an australopithecene this or that discovered hither and thither, how come they have not the basic elimination skills you can find in an alley cat? A much overrated species, in my opinion, and Chatter is doing nothing to change that conclusion.

“Louie climb good," he comments, leaping up and down on his knuckles from below.

“When I have to." I let my built-in pitons relax and drop back onto the box top.

Then I turn my attention to Chatter's cage latch. No doubt about it, the critter has excellent motor control in his fingers. And that damnable opposable thumb .. .

“I see you've figured out a way to let yourself in and out of confinement," I note.

Chatter jumps up and down, screaming, which I assume is his way of taking the Fifth.

I jump down to the concrete to join him.

“I like visitors," he screeches. "I like Cilia.”

This is not surprising. I knew the beauty was sneaking in to visit the beast, but I never knew why.

“Is she your friend?"

“Friend. Cilia pat Chatter. Cilia talk Chatter. Cilia bring presents."

“Okay. "Fess up. Who is your master? Who brought you here?"

“Master?"

“Do not play dumb. I am not your usual gullible human. You are an impersonator as much as all those Elvis clones running around out there. You represent Elvis's pet chimp Scatter. You were brought here for a purpose. Was it just to play second banana to some Elvis impersonator? Or something else?”

Chatter hides his ugly mug behind his funky fingers, just his bright beady eyes peeping out, looking oh-so-coy. "Chatter play tricks."

“I know. The ukulele."

“More! Chatter run around."

“So does a gerbil."

“Chatter run around and look up the lady skirts. Big laugh."

“Nasty trick. I bet the original Scatter was a peeping Tom too. Is that all you can do, act like a deviate?”

He may not know the word, but he is smart enough to recognize an insult when he hears one. Chatter screams at me, monkey invective. "Chatter clever. Chatter smart. Chatter open cage and no one knows."

“Hah. Louie knows."

“Not just here."

“Not just here? Then where?”

Chatter's marble-round eyes squint shut, just like a human suspect when he is feeling shifty. "Upstairs." "You got loose upstairs?"

“I get loose."

“And did you let anything else loose?”

Chatter plays peekaboo through his fingers again.

I quash a spasm of annoyance. I am getting the picture. This lethal weapon with the opposable thumbs is a loose cannon on a very big deck.

“Did you let Trojan out of his container?"

“Trojan?"

“The big snake."

“Biiiig snake. Jungle creature like Chatter. Big snake like to get out of cage."

“So who put you up to it?"

“I not put up. I jump down to open latch."

“But who told you to do it?"

“No human tell Chatter to do anything."

“A human tells you to put on your Elvis suit and strum the ukulele.”

The chimp shook its head. "Not same. That work. Other play. Chatter play."

“When did you release the snake?"

“When Chatter did it, Chatter did it.”

I question the creature further, but it has no sense of time other than when it is performing "work." Sometime before the anaconda was discovered doing the backstroke in the pool by my lovely roommate, this devious chimpanzee was on an illegal scouting expedition and released the snake from confinement. Chatter would have me believe that was merely a mischievous prank.

It does not have the brains to realize it might have been used. If its unknown owner did not encourage this stunt, perhaps Miss Quincey Conrad did, for reasons of her own.

I have never trusted dames who play the submissive sort, and the young Priscilla Quincey impersonates is certainly one of that ilk. Are alt these resurrected Elvises strolling around reviving old vendettas too? Maybe against Priscilla, as my roommate fears, and maybe against one particular Elvis, whoever or wherever he may be.

Chapter 41

Moody Blue

(Recorded in 1976 at Graceland, during a period in which Elvis could hardly be dragged into recording sessions, it made three charts, reaching number one on the country chart and number two on the easy-listening chart)

For the first time in her life, Temple ran nose-first into what it was like to be a fan, and, indirectly, what it was like to be a star.

The backstage area thronged with shouting, milling people, all bent on seeing the Elvis of the moment.