In the warm, bustling courtyard of the little rescue center, morning routines had just begun. The air smelled faintly of fresh fruit, warm porridge, and the earthy scent of the surrounding jungle. Caretakers moved around with gentle smiles, carrying bottles, cleaning supplies, and soft cloths. Among the rescued animals, one little orphan baby monkey stood out—his name was Bobo.
Bobo was a bright-eyed, cheeky little fellow, no older than a toddler in human years. He had come to the center after losing his mother, and though he was tiny, his cleverness was legendary. Everyone who worked there knew that Bobo was not only playful but also a master at getting attention.
Every day, just after breakfast, it was diaper-changing time. Some of the other baby monkeys didn’t mind—it was quick, and afterward they were free to climb, cuddle, and play. But Bobo? Oh no. He absolutely hated diaper change time.
Not because it hurt, or because he didn’t like being clean—no, he disliked it simply because it meant staying still for more than two minutes. For a little monkey full of energy, sitting still felt like the hardest thing in the world.
One sunny morning, as the caretaker Thuy approached with a fresh diaper and a pack of wipes, Bobo’s mischievous mind sparked with an idea.
“What if,” he thought, clutching his tiny belly dramatically, “I pretend to be sick? Then maybe no one will want to change me!”
With a soft groan, Bobo flopped onto his back on the bamboo mat. He squeezed his eyes shut, stuck out his tongue a little, and let out the most pitiful squeaks he could manage.
“Ohhh, my tummy…” he whimpered in his monkey voice, sneaking one eye open to see if anyone noticed.
Thuy gasped, rushing to his side. “Bobo! What’s wrong, little one?” she exclaimed, gently scooping him up.
The other caretakers turned their heads too, worried. They all knew Bobo was usually bouncing around by now, tugging on tails or trying to snatch fruit from the basket.
But there he was, lying limp in Thuy’s arms, looking like a fragile little leaf in the wind. His tiny hands dangled, and he gave a dramatic cough—so fake, yet so convincing.
“Maybe he’s eaten something funny,” said one caretaker.
“Or maybe he’s just tired,” suggested another.
Meanwhile, Bobo peeked through his half-closed eyelids, hiding a sly grin. His plan was working! No one was reaching for the diaper anymore. Instead, they were rubbing his tummy gently and cooing over him.
“Oh, poor baby,” Thuy murmured, holding him close.
For a moment, Bobo almost forgot he was pretending. It felt nice, being cuddled and kissed, everyone fussing over him. But deep inside, he was giggling.
When Thuy brought over a little bowl of mashed banana, Bobo suddenly “perked up.” He sat halfway upright, grabbed the spoon, and stuffed the sweet treat into his mouth with surprising speed.
The caretakers exchanged looks.
“Hmm,” Thuy said slowly, narrowing her eyes at him. “If you’re really sick, little one, how come you can eat so quickly?”
Bobo froze mid-bite, cheeks puffed out with banana. He blinked innocently, then gave a weak cough, as if to say, “See? Still sick.”
The caretakers laughed softly. They were beginning to suspect this was all a trick.
Still, they decided to test him. Thuy placed him gently back on the mat, setting the diaper beside her. “Alright, if you’re too sick for diaper change, then you must also be too sick to play with the ball.”
At the mention of the ball, Bobo’s ears twitched. The red rubber ball was his favorite toy. He loved chasing it, rolling it, even hugging it while he napped.
He bit his lip, trying to keep up the act. “Too sick… too weak…” he whispered dramatically, flopping back down.
But then Thuy tossed the ball lightly across the mat. It bounced twice, rolling toward the corner.
Bobo’s head shot up. His little hands twitched. He couldn’t resist. In a flash, he leapt to his feet, scampered across the mat, and pounced on the ball with all his strength.
The courtyard erupted with laughter.
“Aha! Pretending again!” Thuy said, pointing at him.
Bobo froze, clutching the ball. His eyes darted from the caretakers to the diaper on the mat. His secret was out.
Realizing he had been caught, he tried one last desperate move. He hugged the ball to his chest, tilted his head to one side, and made the saddest little face—big round eyes, pouty lips, tiny squeaks that sounded like, “Please don’t be mad.”
Thuy couldn’t help but smile. She picked him up gently, ball and all, and kissed the top of his fuzzy head. “You silly little actor. You can’t fool us forever.”
This time, when she laid him down to change his diaper, she kept the red ball in his hands. Distracted by his favorite toy, Bobo barely noticed the wipes or the fresh diaper being fastened snugly.
Within minutes, he was clean, comfortable, and free again. He leapt up, tossing the ball high in the air and catching it clumsily, chattering with joy.
The caretakers shook their heads, laughing at his clever trick.
From that day on, everyone teased Bobo whenever diaper time came.
“Uh oh, are you feeling sick again?” they’d ask, grinning.
Bobo would press a hand to his forehead, let out a dramatic sigh, and collapse like a little actor on stage. But now the caretakers knew the game. They’d giggle, scoop him up anyway, and hand him his ball during the change.
Even though his plan had failed, Bobo still loved the attention. And secretly, the caretakers loved it too. His silly antics brought so much laughter to the center.
The story of “Bobo the Actor” spread quickly among visitors and volunteers. Everyone wanted to see the little orphan monkey who pretended to be sick just to avoid diaper change.
Sometimes, children visiting the rescue center would gather around, clapping their hands and saying, “Bobo, are you sick?” and he would instantly flop to the ground, groaning dramatically, making everyone laugh until their sides hurt.
But deep inside, the caretakers knew what Bobo really wanted: love, comfort, and a little bit of extra attention. Pretending to be sick wasn’t just about escaping the diaper—it was his way of saying, “Please, notice me. Please, hold me a little longer.”
And so, every time they cleaned him up, they made sure to give him extra cuddles and kisses afterward. Because behind all the tricks and laughter, Bobo was still a little orphan who needed more love than most.
As the sun set that day, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink, Bobo curled up in Thuy’s lap, ball tucked under his arm, his new diaper fresh and clean. His eyes drooped with sleep, but not before he let out one last playful squeak, as if to say:
“Tomorrow, I’ll try again.”
And everyone knew he would.
