I have a pet monkey. It’s part of me.

I have a pet monkey. Not a chimp or bonobo, but it resembles them: it’s my body. My body, with much of my brain, is a largely primitive primate; hunting about, acting on impulse–if I let it. I have the poor thing mostly trained, after fifty years trying. I have compassion for it. I give it treats. I say things to it, to comfort it. It is not me, but it provides the simple firmware I use to support the vehicle I now move around in.