It all started on a quiet Thursday morning.
The sun was just rising over the Cutis Farm, and everything was peaceful — too peaceful. The birds chirped their daily gossip, the cows mooed in sleepy unison, and CUTIS the farmer was cheerfully humming as he prepared breakfast for the animals. He cracked open a couple of eggs, added some chili sauce (because why not?), and tossed in a few banana slices, just in case little Moko, the baby monkey, wandered in.
And boy, did Moko wander in.
Moko, a tiny yet feisty monkey with eyes full of mischief and a belly full of chaos, had woken up that day with an agenda. You see, CUTIS had recently stopped Moko from diving into the rain barrel during a storm, and to Moko, that was a war crime. Unforgivable. Unforgettable. Unchallenged — until now.
The moment Moko sniffed those bananas sizzling in the pan, his war instincts activated.
“Eee-eee-AAAA!” he screeched, leaping onto the kitchen counter like a furry ninja.
Startled, CUTIS yelped and dropped his spatula. “MOKO! You scared the eggs out of me!”
Moko stared at him with narrowed eyes, his tiny hands grabbing a banana from the pan. He took one aggressive bite, never breaking eye contact. It was a declaration of war.
CUTIS knew that look. He had seen it last week when Moko stole his hat and wore it while leading the chickens in a mutiny. But this… this was worse. The banana had chili sauce on it. Moko froze mid-chew. His face turned red. His tiny feet tapped the counter. He dropped the banana and let out a blood-curdling scream.
“EEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”
The horror had begun.
CUTIS tried to offer water, but Moko was already out the door, flailing dramatically and knocking over a bucket of milk, Farmer Cutis’s toolbox, and a sleepy cat. He rolled across the yard like a flaming meatball, straight into the mud, where he began to plot his revenge.
By noon, war was fully underway.
Operation: Banana Bomb
Moko climbed the tallest tree and began dropping bananas on CUTIS as he worked in the garden. Not just ripe bananas, but green ones, mushy ones, and — to CUTIS’s horror — frozen ones from the deep freezer, which Moko had apparently unlocked by using a stick and a butter knife.
“STOP THAT!” CUTIS yelled, ducking as another banana exploded beside his boots. “That was supposed to be banana ice cream!”
But Moko showed no mercy.
Tactical Goat Deployment
Later in the afternoon, CUTIS was trying to trim the hedge when suddenly five goats stampeded out of the barn, wearing lettuce hats and carrying sticks in their mouths. Moko rode atop the largest goat like a war general, shrieking commands.
“GO-GO-GO! EEEEKAAAAA!”
CUTIS dove into a wheelbarrow and barely escaped being poked in the butt by a stick. “Why are the goats helping you? I feed you guys!”
But the goats didn’t care. Moko had bribed them with peanut butter and belly rubs. The farm had officially turned against CUTIS.
The Chicken Uprising
By 3 p.m., CUTIS was barricaded inside the tool shed, whispering to himself, “This can’t be real. I am a grown man. I own this land. I milk cows. I do taxes. I can’t lose to a monkey.”
Outside, chaos reigned.
Chickens marched in formation, pecking at the door like soldiers. The pig was digging trenches. The rooster was delivering motivational speeches. And in the center of it all was Moko — wearing CUTIS’s straw hat and sunglasses, sipping coconut water from a baby bottle like a mob boss.
“Give up, CUTIS!” Moko seemed to screech. “Or I’ll send in the ducks!”
CUTIS cracked.
He burst out of the shed with a mop in one hand and a rubber boot in the other. “You wanna go, monkey? LET’S GO!”
Moko leapt from the roof of the barn, banana peel in hand, aiming for CUTIS’s head like a guided missile. CUTIS ducked and countered with a mop swing that knocked the peel onto the pig’s back. The pig squealed and launched itself into the ducks, who began flapping wildly in panic. The goats, spooked by the noise, scattered and knocked over the chicken hut, releasing feathers like snow in a blizzard.
The farm was a war zone.
CUTIS and Moko faced off in the middle of the chaos, both breathing heavily, both dirty, both with something to prove.
“You can’t keep doing this every time you don’t get your way,” CUTIS panted.
Moko growled.
“You ate the chili banana by yourself,” CUTIS said. “You literally jumped into it.”
Moko paused… and then slowly nodded.
“Truce?” CUTIS offered, holding out a peeled, non-spicy banana.
Moko took it, sniffed it, and then — with the solemnity of a world leader — gave CUTIS a hug.
Just like that, the war was over.
Aftermath
By evening, peace had returned. The goats were napping, the chickens were rebuilding their coop with CUTIS’s help, and Moko was lying belly-up in a hammock, getting his tummy scratched.
CUTIS sat nearby, sipping iced tea and bandaging a mop-related injury.
“I swear,” he muttered, “next time I’ll just feed him porridge.”
From his hammock, Moko gave a soft “eee,” as if to say, “You better.”
Though the battle had ended, the scars of war would remain — in the form of muddy footprints on the walls, feathers in CUTIS’s pants, and one missing left boot that mysteriously turned up inside the cow’s water trough two days later.
One thing was certain: the farm would never be the same.
Because when a baby monkey starts a war with CUTIS, nobody wins… but everyone definitely remembers it.
