...The Cappucin, sensing a tremor of distress in the ethereal vibes to which his kind are sensitive, looks up the tree and sees the wee Morticia stuck from a branch, pine needles drifitng into sensitive places...and in a burst of trans-species generosity, he leaps up the limbs and assists her off her perch, helping her gently to the floor, from which she makes a slightly dizzy path to the bar, seeking remedial tonics of various colors and names....