The early morning sun poured over the fields like warm honey, bringing life to the quiet farm where Cutis—everyone’s favorite little mischief-maker—lived with the troop. Life on the farm had a rhythm of its own: roosters crowed, cows mooed impatiently, goats stomped around demanding food. But today felt different. Today, something extraordinary was happening.
Mama Lira, one of the gentle female monkeys, was heavily pregnant and moving slower than usual. The troop had kept a close eye on her, especially now that she was nearing her final weeks. She had always been strong—fearless even—but pregnancy had taken its toll. Her steps were softer, her breathing heavier, and even her appetite was not the same. Everyone tried to help her in their own ways, but no one expected that the biggest help would come from the tiniest monkey of all.
Farmer Cutis.
Of course, Cutis wasn’t an actual farmer. He was just a baby monkey who had somehow adopted the habits of a hardworking farm boy. He loved copying human farmers: sweeping floors with a tiny stick, pretending to harvest grass, and dragging piles of leaves like they were bags of rice. The troop had teased him endlessly, calling him “Little Farmer Cutis” because he always seemed busy.
But no one realized just how observant, thoughtful, and clever he really was.
One afternoon, while the others napped in the shade, Cutis stayed awake, watching Mama Lira. She sat quietly by the barn entrance, trying to rest but wincing every few minutes. Her belly had dropped slightly—an unmistakable sign that her delivery date was close. Cutis tilted his head, noticing every detail. Something didn’t feel right to him.
Mama Lira rubbed her stomach with slow, shaky hands. She was exhausted. She hadn’t eaten much in two days.
Cutis’s curious eyes narrowed.
Then he scampered off.
No one knew where he went. Not his mother, not the aunties, not the elder monkey who supervised the troop.
Cutis had a mission.
The farm stretched across a huge green field dotted with fruit trees, vegetable patches, and a big old barn. Cutis knew every corner of it—mostly because he’d stolen food from most corners. But today, his goal wasn’t mischief. It was something more important.
He ran past the chicken coop, ignoring the startled clucks.
He ran past the goats, who bleated angrily as he zipped between them.
He ran past the farmer’s toolshed, where human boots hung by the door.
Finally, he reached a small hidden grove behind the barn—his secret playground. Here, the humans often left fruits to ripen in woven baskets. And in one of those baskets sat his discovery: ripe bananas, warm from the sun, and a handful of medicinal herbs the farmer used on sick cows. The moment he smelled them, Cutis remembered something.
A few months earlier, he had watched the human farmer treat a sick pregnant cow with these exact herbs. The cow recovered quickly.
Cutis didn’t know the science behind it, but he remembered the farmer’s words as he prepared the mixture:
“This will help you recover, mama.”
Cutis’s little heart thumped.
Mama Lira needed help too.
Without hesitation, he grabbed a big ripe banana—bigger than his head—and a bunch of herbs. The banana was easy enough to carry, but the herbs? They kept slipping apart. Cutis grunted, annoyed, but determined. He gathered them in his arms, squeezing them to his chest, and began his journey back.
But carrying all that wasn’t simple. The banana fell three times.
The herbs caught on a bush and scattered in every direction.
Cutis nearly tripped over his own tail while climbing a small mound.
But he didn’t give up.
He gathered everything again, filled his cheeks with some leaves, hugged the banana against his chest, and marched forward like a dedicated little farmer bringing a harvest home.
When he returned to the troop, everyone stared in shock.
Cutis was covered in leaves, twigs stuck in his fur, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, and carrying a massive banana that looked impossible for someone his size to transport. He marched straight toward Mama Lira, ignoring the whispers.
“Cutis? What are you doing?” his mother asked, trying not to laugh.
Cutis didn’t stop. He placed the banana gently in Mama Lira’s lap, then dropped the herbs beside her. He puffed his chest proudly, as if presenting a royal offering.
Mama Lira blinked.
“What… is all this for?”
Cutis waddled closer, placed both hands on her belly, and let out a soft cooing sound—one that meant comfort, care, and love.
Slowly, the troop understood.
“He brought food for her.”
“And herbs!”
“Where did he get all that?”
“He’s helping her recover!”
Mama Lira’s eyes softened. She picked up the banana and took a slow bite. It was exactly what she needed—sweet, soft, and full of energy. The herbs, too, were familiar. She had seen the farmer use them before on livestock. She sniffed them appreciatively.
“Cutis,” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes, “you sweet little boy…”
Cutis climbed onto her lap, hugging her belly gently as if protecting the baby inside. Mama Lira stroked his back, overwhelmed by the tiny farmer’s thoughtfulness.
His mother nuzzled him proudly.
“You did something very kind today.”
The elder monkey nodded in respect.
“This little farmer has a bigger heart than we knew.”
Mama Lira began eating again, slowly regaining her strength. Over the next hours, Cutis stayed by her side, guarding her like a loyal soldier. He groomed her fur when she looked tired. He pressed his forehead to her belly and hummed softly. He even chased away other juveniles who tried to play too roughly near her.
By evening, Mama Lira was feeling noticeably better. Her breathing eased. Her appetite returned. Her eyes regained some sparkle. She held Cutis close, grateful beyond words.
“You helped save me today,” she whispered into his fur. “You and your special gift.”
Cutis chirped proudly.
Word spread quickly across the troop.
Little Farmer Cutis—usually the naughty troublemaker—had done something unbelievable. Something incredible. Something heroic.
He had helped a pregnant mom recover… and he had done it secretly, thoughtfully, and with all the love his tiny heart could give.
From that day forward, Cutis wasn’t just known as the mischievous baby or the playful troublemaker. He became “Farmer Cutis,” the little hero who watched, learned, and used his knowledge to help those who needed it most.
And Mama Lira?
She never forgot the gift that helped her through one of her hardest days.
Whenever Cutis passed by, she would scoop him up, kiss his forehead, and whisper,
“My little farmer… my little angel.”
And Cutis, smug but happy, would puff his chest proudly—because even heroes liked to be noticed.
Especially tiny, adorable ones like him.
