High above on swaying trees, I grow where warm winds ride the breeze. Though called a nut, I wear that wrong, In halves, I mimic hoofbeats’ song.

I rise from earth, but not too high, beneath the ever-open sky. Smaller than giants capped with snow, yet still a place where climbers go.

Fuzzy on the outside, Juicy within, If you hate me with skin, You can eat me from a tin.

I am called The King of the Jungle but do not actually live in the jungle.

Oh human keeper, I can see you, but can you see me? I'm a clever little hunter and I'm quite excellent at it, if I do say so myself. I can solve puzzles and learn to perform your strange, complicated tricks, all for the promise of treats. There is no box that can contain me, and if I haven't escaped yet, I'm simply biding my time. I spend my time sitting tucked away in my little hollow, or hidden among the rocks, or even crammed under a coconut husk, my limbs neatly tucked up around me. I watch the world turn with open curiosity.