Page 36 of Beasts of Mine

They also couldn't agree on what I should be doing about him.

One tanager thought I should bring the leopard more food because hungry males become irritating. A monkey insisted I should stop feeding him altogether and let him bring food to me instead, then became offended when I asked why I would need a leopard delivering lunch.

Another bird recommended sleeping near him because large predators discouraged snakes from coming close, while a different bird immediately argued against it because large predators also stole the best sleeping spots.

The entire rainforest had turned into a collection of nosy neighbors, each convinced they understood my relationship with Cat better than I did.

I was still thinking about that when I noticed an older capuchin sitting alone on a thick horizontal branch beside the trail. His gray-brown fur was noticeably lighter around his face than the younger monkeys I'd seen closer to the station, and there was something slower and more deliberate about the way he moved. One hand rested against the branch while the other carefully separated the soft part of a yellow fruit from the fibrous center.

He noticed me but didn't leave, and I slowed several yards away because the light around him was beautiful. A narrow break in the canopy allowed sunlight to reach part of the branch, catching the pale hairs around his face while leaving the vegetation behind him in deeper shadow.

My hand moved toward the camera out of habit before I stopped myself.

“Would you mind if I took your picture?” I asked the elder capuchin, leaving the camera resting against my chest while I waited instead of automatically lifting it.

The monkey chewed the piece of fruit already in his mouth and studied me for several seconds.

You ask first, the elder capuchin observed, his voice slower and calmer than those of the younger monkeys I'd spoken to that morning as his dark gaze lingered on me.

“Usually. It seems even more important now that you can actually tell me whether you want me to,” I told the capuchin, resting my fingers along the side of the camera while I waited beneath the patchy shade.

You can take them, the capuchin allowed after considering that, turning his attention back toward the fruit while one leg hung loosely beneath the branch.

“Thank you,” I told the capuchin, lifting the camera carefully and adjusting the focus before taking the first photograph.

I took only a handful. The light changed whenever leaves shifted overhead, forcing me to adjust the settings twice, but the elder monkey remained where he was while I worked. He turned toward the forest once, giving me a profile that I knew would look beautiful once I transferred the image to a larger screen.

When I finished, I lowered the camera instead of continuing down the trail. There was something about his quiet manner that made him seem like a better source of information than the collection of birds and young monkeys who'd spent the morning interfering in my life.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked the elder capuchin, leaning one shoulder against a nearby tree while warm air stirred the loose strands around my temples and the camera rested comfortably against my stomach.

You just did, the capuchin replied, carefully pulling another piece from his fruit before glancing toward me from the corner of one eye.

I laughed, the sound carrying softly beneath the leaves.

“Apparently you're funny too,” I told the monkey, relaxing a little more against the tree before curiosity finally won. “Why does everyone keep talking to me about the leopard?”

Because he watches you, the elder capuchin explained after taking another bite, wiping one sticky finger against the bark as though there were nothing particularly strange about his answer.

“Animals watch people all the time,” I told the capuchin, thinking about the countless hours I'd spent photographing wildlife that had been just as aware of my presence as I was of theirs.

Not the way he does, the elder capuchin replied, meeting my eyes while the certainty in his expression removed some of the amusement from the conversation.

I shifted against the tree, suddenly remembering how many times I'd looked up from my camera and found the leopard already watching me.

“How does he watch me?” I asked the elder capuchin, my voice quieter now as I ran one thumb absently along the side of the camera. The older monkey rolled the remaining piece of fruit between his fingers while he considered the question.

Like he's checking that you're still there, the capuchin finally answered, his expression calm as his eyes remained steadily on mine.

Something inside my chest tightened, and I straightened slightly away from the tree without meaning to.

“What does that mean?” I asked the capuchin, rubbing my thumb along the camera's edge while a bird called somewhere high above us.

Spotted one belongs here. He knows every tree, every path, every smell. This is his place, the elder capuchin explained, looking toward the deeper forest as he gestured vaguely with the fruit still held in one hand.

“That makes sense,” I told the capuchin, watching him closely because something about his expression told me he hadn't reached whatever point he was trying to make.

You don't stay anywhere very long, the elder capuchin said, turning his dark eyes back toward me while the last bit of humor disappeared from his tone.