Day 3: Baby Monkey Cici Looks So Weak During Bath 💔 Still Closing Her Eyes From Exhaustion”

Day three arrived, and the sun rose gently over the small animal sanctuary where Baby Monkey Cici had found a temporary home. The sanctuary was usually filled with cheerful sounds—birds chirping, leaves rustling, and the playful chatter of the other monkeys. But on this morning, the atmosphere felt heavy with worry.

Cici, the tiniest member of the rescue family, was not doing well. She had been rescued just a few days earlier, malnourished, weak, and frightened. While her first day had been spent resting in a soft blanket and her second day showed a few moments of alertness, now on the third day, her little body seemed drained of energy.

Dad—the caretaker everyone affectionately called “Dad” because of the way he nurtured the animals—approached Cici’s corner with gentle steps. He had prepared a small basin with warm water, intending to give her a much-needed bath. The goal wasn’t only to clean her tiny fur, but also to soothe her body, relax her muscles, and hopefully spark a little life back into her eyes.

When Dad gently lifted Cici, her small limbs hung limp. Her eyes opened for only a second, then closed again as if she had no strength left to hold them open. He cradled her carefully, whispering, “Stay strong, little one. You are safe now.”

The basin of warm water waited, steam curling up lightly in the cool morning air. Dad slowly lowered Cici into the water, his hands never leaving her fragile body. The moment her fur touched the warmth, she gave a faint shiver, then leaned into his palm for support. It was heartbreaking to see how weak she looked—her eyelids drooping, her head falling forward, her body so tiny and vulnerable.

Dad used a soft cloth, dipping it into the water and squeezing it gently over Cici’s back. He moved slowly, cautious not to overwhelm her. Every drop seemed to weigh heavily on her delicate frame. Unlike playful, energetic baby monkeys who would splash and chatter, Cici was still and quiet, her exhaustion visible in every breath.

Her eyes would open just slightly now and then, glimmering with a faint spark, but they quickly closed again as if the effort was too much. Dad could feel the sharp bones of her ribs beneath her thin skin. It was a painful reminder of the neglect and hardship she must have endured before being rescued.

The other monkeys, curious and caring in their own way, peered over from their corners of the sanctuary. Lala, the slightly older baby monkey, tilted her head as if asking why Cici wasn’t moving. CUTIS, the playful troublemaker, tried to approach but was gently guided away. Dad wanted Cici to have peace and quiet during this tender moment.

The bath was not just about cleanliness—it was symbolic of renewal. Dad knew that each act of care mattered: every stroke of the cloth, every gentle rinse, every soft whisper of encouragement. He massaged Cici’s tiny arms and legs with water, hoping the warmth would ease her tension and give her comfort.

But as the minutes passed, Cici’s exhaustion became more apparent. Her head rested completely against Dad’s hand, her breathing shallow. She was not resisting; she was not even reacting much—just letting herself be carried through the process. Her eyes, still closed, made Dad’s heart ache.

He kept speaking to her softly, “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to fight alone anymore. We’re here with you.” His voice was steady, calm, like a lullaby.

When the bath was over, Dad wrapped Cici in a warm, soft towel. He patted her gently, removing the water from her fragile fur. For a moment, he thought he saw her tiny fingers twitch, grasping at the towel as if holding on. That small movement gave him hope.

He carried her back to her little bed—a padded basket lined with blankets. Laying her down gently, he tucked the towel around her like a cocoon. Then, using a small syringe without a needle, he offered her a bit of warm milk formula. At first, she didn’t respond. But after a few moments, her lips moved faintly, and she took in a few drops.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And in times like these, even the smallest progress felt like a victory.

Dad stayed by her side for hours, watching, stroking her tiny head, and making sure she was comfortable. Each time her eyes fluttered open, even briefly, it felt like a gift.

The other monkeys were unusually quiet that day, as if they, too, sensed the seriousness of Cici’s condition. CUTIS sat near the edge of the enclosure, glancing over from time to time. Lala brought a leaf as if wanting to share it with Cici, though she was too weak to accept it.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky with soft orange hues, Cici remained wrapped in her blanket, still closing her eyes from exhaustion. But Dad refused to lose hope. He knew recovery was not measured in days but in countless small acts of love and patience.

He thought back to other rescues he had cared for—monkeys who were once frail and hopeless but eventually grew strong, playful, and full of life. He believed Cici had that same chance, even if today was hard.

The sanctuary grew quiet as night fell. Dad prepared a small heater to keep Cici’s bed warm through the night. He gave her another attempt at formula, gently stroking her back to encourage her. Though she barely swallowed, it was enough to keep hope alive.

Looking at her peaceful face, still closed in exhaustion, he whispered, “Day three was hard, little one, but we’ll get through day four, too. Step by step.”

He knew the journey would be long. He knew there would be many nights of worry. But he also knew that Cici had already shown resilience by surviving until now. Her spirit, though hidden behind those closed eyes, was still present, still fighting in silence.

The story of Day 3 ended not with sudden recovery, but with quiet perseverance—a baby monkey too weak to open her eyes, but surrounded by love, care, and unshakable hope.

And in that sanctuary, with Dad’s hands always ready to protect and comfort, Cici’s fragile life had a chance to blossom again.