Morning sunlight streamed through the leaves, painting golden patches on the ground. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of dew and earth, and the forest seemed alive with sound—chirping birds, rustling branches, and the distant chatter of monkeys. In the middle of all this stood Cutis, the farmer, holding a small bottle of warm milk in his hands. The bottle was not for a child, not for himself, but for the newest member of his little family—a tiny baby monkey everyone had started calling “the little cutie.”
The little cutie monkey had come into Cutis’s life unexpectedly. One evening, he found the baby all alone near the edge of the forest, weak, trembling, and clearly hungry. Its fur was soft and light brown, its eyes big and round, filled with confusion and fear. Cutis knew that without care, the baby would not survive. He brought it home, wrapped it in a clean cloth, and promised himself he would do whatever it took to give the little one a chance at life.
Now, each morning, his first task was the same: preparing milk for the baby monkey. Cutis took care to warm the milk just enough—not too hot, not too cold—so it would feel soothing to the baby’s tiny stomach. He sterilized the bottle, making sure everything was clean. The act of preparing the milk had become a ritual, filled with love and responsibility.
Walking toward the spot where the little monkey waited, Cutis smiled. The baby monkey had already learned to recognize the sound of his footsteps. From a small wooden basket lined with cloth, the tiny creature squeaked excitedly. Its little fingers clutched at the air, its tail wiggling as though it already knew that breakfast was on the way.
Cutis knelt down, holding the bottle gently. “Good morning, little cutie,” he said softly, his voice warm with affection. “Are you ready for your milk?”
The monkey responded with a high-pitched chatter, eyes wide and sparkling. Cutis held the baby carefully in his arm, just as he would hold a human infant. The monkey clung to his shirt with surprising strength for such a small creature, pressing its face toward the bottle eagerly.
The moment the nipple touched its mouth, the little monkey began to drink. Its tiny cheeks moved quickly, and soft sounds of contentment filled the air. For Cutis, watching the baby drink was a moment of pure joy. Every gulp meant health, every satisfied sigh meant hope. The monkey’s trust was growing day by day, and that trust was the greatest gift Cutis could imagine.
As the monkey drank, Cutis thought about how delicate life could be. A single accident, a single day of hunger, could end a young life. Yet here was this fragile creature, holding on, growing stronger with each sip of milk. He knew that raising a monkey would not be easy—it needed care, patience, and a lot of understanding—but he was ready for it.
When the bottle was nearly empty, the little monkey slowed down, pausing between sips. A drop of milk clung to its lips, and Cutis chuckled, wiping it gently with his finger. The baby licked his hand in response, as if saying thank you in its own little way.
After feeding, Cutis placed the monkey back in the basket for a short rest. The tiny creature curled into a ball, tail wrapped around itself, and let out a soft yawn. Cutis covered it lightly with a cloth to keep it warm. Watching the little cutie close its eyes and drift into sleep filled his heart with a mix of pride and tenderness.
But the day was only beginning. Feeding was only one part of taking care of the baby monkey. Cutis had to prepare a safe space for it, clean its bedding, and later introduce it to soft fruits when it was ready. He had already set aside a corner of his home as a small play area, with a low wooden perch and a few hanging ropes. Though still tiny, the monkey would soon grow curious and start climbing.
As he worked, neighbors sometimes came by to see the baby monkey. Children especially loved to visit, peeking into the basket and giggling at its tiny face. “It’s so cute!” they would say, trying to touch it with gentle fingers. Cutis always reminded them to be calm and quiet, teaching them that animals, like humans, needed patience and kindness.
One afternoon, as Cutis carried another bottle of milk outside, he noticed the monkey was no longer content to stay in the basket. The little cutie had begun to crawl, wobbling on its small arms and legs. With surprising determination, it climbed halfway up Cutis’s leg, demanding to be fed. Cutis laughed aloud. “So impatient! You don’t even want to wait in your basket anymore.”
Feeding became a playful event. Sometimes the monkey would cling to his arm while drinking, staring up at him with wide eyes. Other times, it would pause to squeak, almost as if telling a story, before returning to the milk. Cutis started talking to it more and more, sharing thoughts about the weather, his work in the fields, and even his dreams. The monkey might not have understood his words, but it certainly understood the tone—gentle, loving, protective.
Weeks passed, and the little monkey grew stronger. Its fur thickened, its movements became quicker, and its playful nature shone brightly. Yet, no matter how curious or energetic it became, the bottle of milk remained its favorite comfort. Morning and evening, Cutis could always count on the baby running—or rather, scrambling—toward him the moment it saw the bottle. That bond, built through the simple act of feeding, grew deeper every day.
One evening, as the sun set and painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, Cutis sat outside with the monkey in his lap. The little one had just finished its milk and was now resting, eyes half-closed, tiny hands gripping his shirt. Fireflies began to appear, glowing softly in the dusk. Cutis stroked the monkey’s head, whispering, “You’re not alone anymore, little cutie. You’re part of my family now.”
The baby let out a soft chirp, snuggling closer. For Cutis, that moment was worth every effort—the sleepless nights, the careful preparations, the constant worry. He knew that caring for the monkey was not just about survival; it was about love, connection, and the joy of giving.
Day by day, taking milk to the little cutie monkey was no longer a duty but a cherished ritual. It reminded Cutis that even the smallest acts of care could nurture life, heal wounds, and create bonds that words could never fully describe. The little monkey, once abandoned and fragile, was now thriving, its spirit bright and lively, all because someone took the time to carry a bottle of milk with love.
And so, each morning, as the sun rose over the fields, Cutis carried milk to his little cutie monkey. And each morning, the baby monkey’s eager eyes, playful chirps, and satisfied sighs filled his home with warmth. Together, they shared a story of hope—proof that compassion could change a life forever.
