Baby Koi had been waiting… and waiting. The sun was already high, the morning coolness fading, and still her mom had not come to give her the bath she loved every day. At first she only paced around the room, tiny feet tapping the floor, tail twitching with impatience. But the longer she waited, the bigger her emotions grew. Her little face tightened, brows scrunched, and soon the first scream burst out of her like a firecracker.
She didn’t just cry — she screamed. A sharp, urgent demand that echoed through the house. Koi rolled on her back, kicked her legs, then sat up and yelled even louder, as if the entire world must know she was not happy. She grabbed a small cloth, tossed it aside dramatically, then looked toward the door again. Still no Mom. The waiting felt endless.
Her tiny heart believed bath time meant love, attention, warmth. For her, water wasn’t just cleaning — it was comfort. So when Mom was late, it felt like betrayal to her little monkey heart. She screamed again, this time shaking her head and pounding the floor with her hands, voice breaking into emotional little squeals. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, making her fur damp even before the bath began.
Finally, footsteps approached. Mom entered holding the warm water bucket and gentle smile. Baby Koi froze, looked at her — then exploded with another dramatic scream, half anger, half relief. Mom scooped her up softly, whispering, “I know, my baby, I’m here now.” Koi clung to her tightly, still sniffling but calmer as she was carried toward the bathing spot.
The warm water touched her skin, and her cries faded into soft chirps of comfort. Just moments ago she was furious, and now she melted like butter in Mom’s hands — the drama gone, only love remaining.
