Free Squiggle by B.B. Wurge Page B

the Squaggs, until restaurant owners and cafe attendants got to recognize them as Monsieur and Madam Miserables.
    As Squiggle watched them, she forgot for a moment that she was a monkey. In fact she forgot all about herself, and came very close to jumping into the middle of their table. She probably would have, except at that moment her mother looked up and said, “I had another nightmare about that hairy spider that attacked Lobelia. Ugh! I wish I could get it out of my head.”
    â€œOfficer Poe says it’s a gorilla,” Mr. Squagg said. “I always thought gorillas were larger than that; but he must know what he’s talking about. Smart man, Officer Poe.”
    After that they slumped back over their coffee cups and were quiet again. It was as much as they had said to each other all day.
    Squiggle backed away and crouched in the shadows. Of course she couldn’t show herself to her parents. They would scream again, just like last time, and the entire restaurant would be after her. If only she were a little girl again, then she could run up to her parents and everyone would be happy! Her only hope was to find Mr. LeFuzz.
    She gritted her little monkey teeth and began to climb again. Soon the restaurant was below her. She reached the second level of the Eiffel Tower, another platform full of people, but smaller than the first level because the tower got skinnier as it went up. But she didn’t stop to rest this time. She continued up the side of the tower.
    As she got higher, the climbing got more difficult. The wind picked up and the whole tower seemed to shake and shudder. When she looked down she saw the city stretched out around her like Christmas tree lights glittering and twinkling in the night. She was high enough now that it began to turn her head. She got dizzy and almost fell off, and decided not to look down anymore.
    She had to cling tightly to each girder to avoid being blown off by the gusts of wind. At each step she would reach up with one hand and her tail to get a hold of the next iron bar, and then slowly pull herself up. The higher she got, the windier it got, and the slower she climbed.
    What seemed like hours and hours later (it probably wasn’t that long), Squiggle neared the top. The tower was so skinny that she could see clear through to the other side. An elevator full of people passed her on its way up. She could see them, but they couldn’t see her in the darkness. Even if somebody had spotted the little fuzzy shape clinging to the struts outside, they would have thought it was another bit of garbage blown up from the streets. A few rags and newspapers clung in the cracks here and there, fluttering in the wind. Right above her, a whole cardboard box had gotten lodged between two metal girders and a cable. She would have to climb around it, and then she would be at the top—or very nearly so. Just another few yards. Her arms and her legs and her tail ached.
    The packing box was open on one side. As Squiggle climbed past it she looked inside. Lounging comfortably on a little chair, as if he were in his own living room (and I suppose he was), sat a little man in a perfectly neat little suit. His feet (which were bare) were stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. He had a little glass in his hand, and a contented expression on his face. He was gazing out of the side of the box at the beautiful view of Paris. But when he saw a monkey climb into view and look in at him, he leaped to his feet so suddenly that his head bashed into the top of the box and he spilled his drink everywhere.
    â€œAre you Mr. LeFuzz?” Squiggle asked, climbing into the box. The wind was not so bad inside. She was so exhausted from the climb that she could hardly stand up. Her legs shook under her.
    The little man said, “Mon Dieu! What and who are you?”
    â€œI’m Lobelia Squagg,” she said. “Remember?”
    He stared at her for a long time and said