The first thing I felt, as you might imagine, is a sense of panic.
Monkey! My monkey! Where's my monkey!
It is a terrible feeling, but it fuels the frantic search that comes next. Ripping sheets from beds and spare tires from trunks and gophers from holes.
Then comes despair. A hollow-eyed, brain-numbing sense of loss, of finality. Despair is often accompanied by beating one's head against the pavement, ripping one's hair from one's head, and slamming one's fingers in a car door, repeatedly.
But as Vincent Price once said, you can only take so much horror before you get used to it. Then the numbness and despair pass.
And are replaced by a feeling of release.
Hey. I don't have to pick up after that filthy, lousy monkey any more.
And that is a beautiful feeling indeed.