"I think more than a few would be itchy," she says noncommittally, shrugging, because she doesn't really care as long as it doesn't turn into anything physically uncomfortable, like being covered in them or lying in a box of them. "And I don't want them in my hair. But a few would be all right."

She peers at the monkey, its gnashing teeth and spittle, its beady little eyes. "You could probably teach him how to panhandle. Or commit murders, then you could hire him out as an assassin. No one would suspect a monkey."