Unclean!

I need to do some serious house cleaning around here. The debris from the monkey cages has spread throughout the entire house. It's awful. If someone I wanted to impress came to the door today, I'd have to say, "Go, away! We are unclean!"
I had the beasts under control for a while, but I don't know what wrong. I mean, it was never Martha Stewart-ish here. It's always out of kilter a bit, and I don't mind. . . too much. Life is way to short to be worried about whether there's a half-inch of dust under a piece of furniture that hasn't moved in 20 years. But the clutter has spread, and it must be addressed.
Middle Monkey, for example, has developed some sort of strange disability that prevents him from opening a closet door. His work station, located literally inches from the coat closet, is covered with jackets, sweatshirts, and various other clothing. Or maybe it isn't a true disability. Perhaps it's just sheer exhaustion. After he's walked home from school, perhaps the poor thing can't possibly go the extra six inches, open the door and actually hang a jacket. I guess I should be glad that we've had a mild winter, otherwise, there'd probably be down jackets piled to the ceiling.
And then there are the deadly sock poops. These belong to Baby Monkey. Baby Monkey has the biggest feet in the house. Size 13. There is no mistaking ownership of anything that covers his feet. He also has a disability. Apparently, he has a rare neurological issue which causes severe irritation when anything is worn on his feet. There is no rash, no itching, no pain, or redness. But he just can't keep anything on his feet once he comes into the house. His shoes come off and are flung in two different directions. The moment of shoe disrobement is accompanied by a very loud thud, similar to the sound of a body falling approximately ten feet, I would imagine. (Do you have any idea how much size 13 Skechers weigh?) Shortly after flinging his shoes, he pulls off his socks -- very long, very smelly size 13 socks. He pulls them off in such a way that they are turned inside out. And then these long, smelly things lay in a little clump on the floor. Hence, they become "sock poops". Try as I might, it seems impossible to housebreak Baby Monkey.
The Princeling hasn't been too messy these days, at least not in the public spaces of the house. Now that he has a girlfriend, he spends most of his time in his cage sending instant messages and making phone calls to her. We know he's in there, because as he talks on the phone, his booming voice can be heard, even though it is slightly muffled by the mountain of laundry sitting in front of his door.
I'd like to get a start on all of this mess. Last week I attempted to begin. All the monkeys were threatened with great physical pain, and they scurried about the house, chattering and screeching while picking up all of their personal belongings. Last week I went on a three-hour quest in search of a new vacuum cleaner belt. I went from store-to-store searching for the very rare Dirt Devil Platinum Series belt, a $6.00 item which was only located after much frustration. So while I now have a functioning vacuum cleaner, I can't see the floor for all the debris and sock poops.
And I'd really, really like to clean the family room, but KONG HAS NOT MOVED THE COFFEE TABLE YET! (In bold letters in case Kong's office mates read this and can help me in the nagging process.) We moved our 100-year-old coffee table from the living room to the family room back in December in order to make room for the stinking Christmas tree that Kong insists we have each year. This coffee table was made by my father from an old kitchen table we had lying around the house when I was a child. I love it. But it's fragile. Yet, now it sits in the middle of the most occupied room in the house. It sits in front of the sofas where the monkeys are sorely tempted to crash their large, heavy feet upon it. The poor table is already shaky, and it can't take this kind of abuse. I've asked Kong several times to move the table. He says he'll do it. IT HAS YET TO BE DONE! So there the fragile table sits, amidst a room full of monkey debris. If it should break, Kong will be the one to suffer, not the little monkeys!
Let this be a warning to all who come to Monkey Island. We are unclean!