As I type this from my bed, Monkey is curled up by my side. He’s not actually in bed with me, but in his own bunk, less than an arm’s length away.

After months of resisting, I’ve finally given in and I’m now referring to my wheelchair as Monkey’s Bunk. And I’m not the only one: Claire moved my chair out of the way earlier and apologised to Monkey for disturbing him.

This might seem a bid ridiculous and obviously my chair is essential for my mobility and freedom. However, as Monkey’s noted, it’s a perfect fit for him and he’s even very diligent about wearing his seatbelt.

I’ve realised that he actually spends more time in my chair than I do. After a quick cuddle in bed, he moves into his bunk each evening and stays there until I demand it back in the morning. When I go for an afternoon nap, he immediately hops into the chair, actually he does this whenever I get out, even for a second. I reckon I use it about 10 hours a day which gives monkey the other 14.

There are very few other beings that I’d share this essential aspect of my life with, but Monkey’s snuck his way into my heart as well as my chair.