Chinchilla Confessional

I've been confiding in Monte, the chinchilla I live with, for months. When I need to get something off my chest he comes to the front of his apartment and listens attentively, sometimes leaning one of his front paws on the wires of his wall or winking solemnly to show that he gets where I'm coming from. I felt that these conversations, while clearly reinforcing our social bond, were largely one-sided, and that although he seemed hip to what I have to say, that he was sympathizing with me in a sort of big-picture, non-language based way.

Last night Dilip and I were kicking it with Monte until pretty late, admiring his acrobatic dust-bathing style, relishing the way he clutches almonds in his minuscule hands as if they were corn on the cob or a sandwich. He wasn't interested in striking any of his poses for Dilip (The Buffalo, The French Prisoner, etc.), but I was really more eager for him to demonstrate his "Leap Through A Narrow Hole to His Second Floor" maneuver. He was ignoring me while I pleaded with him to do his big precision leap. He was absorbed in sniffing around for stray almonds. I finally said to him, "Look, if you do the precision leap through the hole onto the second floor, I'll give you an almond, OK?" Immediately, Monte walked over to the hole, and leaped through it, landing on the second floor. Dilip and I were pretty much dumbfounded, and I immediately gave Monte the almond I'd promised him, because now that I knew he understands English I was seeing our relationship in a whole new light. If I'd known he actually understands spoken English, I might not have been so candid with him in the past. But as far as I know, he still doesn't speak or write English, so I guess my secrets are safe with him. At least as long as I keep the almonds flowing his way.