If you see me cruising in my minivan with a black, hairy beast riding shotgun, that passenger might not be my usual companion, Bongo. It could be my new best friend, Judy.

Judy’s a 37-year-old chimpanzee who escaped from her cage and found her way into the zookeeper’s living quarters. Once there, she did what Contessa would do in a stranger’s house: rummage through cupboards. Judy discovered bottles of soda, twisted off their lids and knocked back a couple of liters. The chimp then took a look around and, with the clarity that comes after downing loads of caffeine, figured out her zookeeper wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart. Fueled by a sugar buzz, Judy set off on a cleaning binge.

Starting in the bathroom, she grabbed a scrub brush and attacked the toilet. Moving to the kitchen, the perfectionist primate soaked a rag and scrubbed down the refrigerator. I’m not sure where she was headed next, but Judy couldn’t stop her cleaning frenzy until sedated by zoo officials. She ended her cleaning jag on top of the refrigerator, asleep and clutching a loaf of cinnamon bread she found in the freezer.

Judy, Judy, Judy! Won’t you be my new best friend?

I’d make sure she felt at home. We’d start off with a little pick-me-up at Starbucks.

“Could I get a banana-coconut crème latte, please? Oh, and give me a dozen packets of sugar. No, make that two-dozen.”

“Sure, lady. This must be for one of your teenagers.”

“No, just my new best friend.”

Once home, I’d hand Judy a scrub brush and send her to the kids’ bathroom. Oh, at first she’d screech like her distant banshee cousin but she’d get over it. I did. I figured out wearing a gas mask worked better than holding my breath. Cleanup went quicker, too, once I stopped passing out every couple of minutes.

She’ll love tackling my refrigerator. The twins, Pinot and Grigio once had a “Foods For Today” assignment to bring in the oldest-dated product they could find in our refrigerator. It was more like “Foods For The Decade.” The boys’ first pick was a plastic container with grapes leftover from my Y2K stash. Nix to that. Some do-gooder health teacher would have tossed them out, not understanding that making wine hinged upon proper aging of grapes. The boys finally settled on a jar of Cheez Whiz I bought to celebrate Bush’s inauguration. Bush the elder, that is.

Maybe Judy would try her hand at cooking. My family is used to mealtime experimentation, along with a few mysterious hairs popping up here and there. Surely she could tear open a frozen dinner box, stick it in the microwave and punch a few buttons. It didn’t take me too long to learn. It’s that stove contraption I still haven’t figured out. Eventually, she’ll discover what I did: dialing for take-out.

I’d show Judy that living the life of a Contessa is not all clean and no play. Just stepping into the family room would clue her in. That’s where the other primates hang out, lounging on the sofa, chattering away and swilling sodas. The only difference is, they won’t clean up after themselves.

On second thought, maybe I’d keep Judy out of that room. That’s no way to treat a new best friend. Besides, she might hightail it back to her cage.

Danielle Schaaf is the author of Don’t Chew Jesus! A Collection of Memorable Nun Stories and can be reached at hauteflashcontessa@yahoo.com