Cutis had always been the little mastermind of the troop—a baby monkey with eyes too bright, hands too quick, and a mind far sharper than anyone expected from someone so tiny. From the moment he learned how to cling to his mother’s belly, he had also learned how to get exactly what he wanted. Whether he wanted more food, extra cuddles, or a way out of trouble, Cutis had a way of bending situations in his favor. But nothing—absolutely nothing—could compare to the day he pretended to be sick.
The morning started out like any ordinary day. The sun broke through the leaves, throwing warm gold across the troop’s resting place. Moms groomed babies, males argued over territory, juveniles swung like wild acrobats through the branches. Cutis, however, woke up in a very different mood.
He had decided he didn’t want to follow the troop to the far trees, where the older monkeys searched for fruits and insects. He didn’t feel like walking. He didn’t feel like climbing. He wanted attention, he wanted treats, and he wanted his mom to stop scolding him for stealing others’ food. So, Cutis came up with a plan—an elaborate one.
When his mother called him to get ready for the morning journey, Cutis suddenly let out a very dramatic “eee-eee!” He grabbed his stomach, rolled over, and flopped like a dying fish.
His mother froze.
“Cutis?” she called, rushing toward him.
He groaned louder, covering his eyes with his tiny hands. Nearby monkeys turned their heads. A few mothers gasped. Even a grumpy old male walked closer to inspect him.
Cutis remained perfectly still, except for a small peek from one eye to see if they were watching. Oh, they were watching. Perfect.
His mother immediately gathered him in her arms, stroking his back, sniffing his face, checking his tiny belly. Cutis leaned into her chest, acting weaker than a newborn. He let out a soft whimper, the kind he practiced a hundred times just to make sure it sounded convincing.
Soon enough, the troop’s aunties had gathered around him.
“What happened?” one asked.
“He looks pale!” another exclaimed.
“Maybe he ate something bad,” said a third.
Cutis had never felt more proud of himself. This was working better than expected!
His mother cancelled the morning journey entirely. Instead of joining the others, she stayed behind, carrying Cutis, hugging him close, offering him fruits she usually kept for emergencies. Cutis pretended he didn’t want the food at first. He let it sit near his mouth. He pushed it away dramatically with one tiny hand.
The reactions were priceless.
“Oh no… he can’t even eat!”
“Poor baby Cutis…”
He waited a few minutes—just enough to build the panic—then slowly, carefully, opened his mouth and accepted a fruit. Everyone sighed with relief. Cutis’s mother stroked his head, whispering to him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
Inside, Cutis was celebrating his Oscar-worthy performance.
But Cutis had forgotten one thing—the troop doctor.
He wasn’t an actual doctor, of course, but a wise older monkey who had raised many babies and could identify real sickness easily. He approached slowly, examining the scene with narrowed eyes.
Cutis saw him and instantly froze. Oh no. Not him.
He curled into a tighter ball and squeezed his eyes shut.
The old monkey sniffed him, poked his belly gently, inspected his fur, checked his breathing. Cutis fought every instinct to laugh or swat the old monkey’s hand away. He stayed limp, hoping the doctor would just go away.
But the doctor wasn’t fooled.
After a long moment, the old monkey stood up and said in a sharp voice,
“He’s not sick.”
Cutis’s mother jolted. “What do you mean?”
“He’s pretending,” the elder replied. “Look.”
He reached down and tickled Cutis’s side—just lightly.
Cutis twitched.
The entire troop gasped.
He tried again. A gentle poke.
Cutis’s legs kicked.
The mother’s eyes widened. “Cutis…?”
Cutis tried to keep the act going, but his tail started flicking nervously. Then he made a huge mistake: he peeked again—right into the eyes of the doctor and his mother.
Caught.
The aunties burst into chatter.
“He fooled us!”
“We worried for nothing!”
“This boy is too smart for his own good.”
Cutis knew the performance was officially over. So he shifted into the next part of his plan—playing cute and innocent. He curled up, gave his mom the biggest, roundest sad eyes he could manage, and pressed his face into her chest.
But his mother was not amused.
“Oh, so you’re healthy now?” she sternly asked.
Cutis nuzzled her cheek, pretending to apologize. He wrapped his little arms around her neck, clinging like a tiny koala.
The troop snickered.
“Look at him trying to charm his way out.”
“He’s a naughty one, that Cutis!”
“Smart too, but dangerous!”
The mother sighed deeply and tapped his forehead. “You scared me. Never do that again.”
Cutis nodded quickly—though everyone knew he didn’t really mean it.
Still, his mother carried him the rest of the morning, giving him gentle scoldings mixed with kisses. She loved him too much to stay angry for long. But she also made it clear that pretending to be sick came with consequences. No extra treats. No special attention tonight. And absolutely no mischief for the rest of the day.
Cutis accepted the punishment—or at least pretended to.
But as the day went on, the troop couldn’t stop talking about him.
“Is he smart?” one monkey asked.
“Or is he just too naughty?” another wondered.
“Maybe he’s both,” the elder said with a sigh. “And that is the dangerous combination.”
Cutis didn’t mind the attention. In fact, he loved it. He stayed close to his mom, quiet and obedient for the afternoon, just to rebuild her trust. Every now and then, he gave her gentle kisses, hoping she would forgive him completely.
By evening, the troop was relaxing under the trees. Cutis sat on his mother’s lap, playing with a leaf. He seemed calm, peaceful, angelic even.
But then—out of nowhere—he tried to steal a fruit from his auntie’s basket.
The troop erupted in laughter.
“Naughty!”
“See? He never changes.”
“That boy is trouble!”
Cutis ran back to his mom, clutching the stolen fruit, eyes sparkling with mischief. His mother shook her head, trying hard not to smile.
“Definitely naughty,” she said.
“And definitely smart,” the older monkey added.
“But stubborn,” another monkey said.
Cutis didn’t care what they called him. As long as he had his fruit, his mother’s warmth, and everyone’s attention, he was happy.
And so, the legend of “Cutis Pretending to Be Sick” became another chapter in the troop’s stories—a tale of a baby monkey whose mind was too clever, whose heart was too playful, and whose naughtiness always kept the forest lively.
Smart or naughty?
Maybe both.
But one thing was certain:
Life with Cutis was never boring.
