Baby Zim had a habit that everyone in the house knew well. Wherever mom went, Zim followed—like a tiny shadow with soft fur and wide curious eyes. This morning, mom began sweeping and wiping the floor, preparing the house for a fresh day. But instead of playing with toys like other baby monkeys would, Zim chose a different spot of comfort: hugging tightly onto mom’s foot.
Mom gently tried to move, but each step was slow because Zim wrapped both little arms around her ankle, refusing to let go. He peeked up at her with big innocent eyes as if saying, “Don’t leave me, mom. I want to stay with you.” The broom swayed, dust gathered, the house slowly brightened—but Zim held on, swaying along with every step, his tiny body bouncing lightly with mom’s movement.
Sometimes he slid down, but crawled right back to hold again, cheek rubbing against her leg. Mom chuckled softly, pretending to scold him while her heart melted. She paused to pat his head, giving him a warm moment of affection. Instantly, his tail curled around her foot, even tighter than before.
As mom cleaned corners and wiped the table, Zim followed—still attached, like a baby who feared even a second of separation. When mom stopped to rest, Zim climbed onto her lap with a relieved sigh, as though finishing a long mission. He pressed his head against her shirt, closing his eyes while she stroked his back gently.
The house smelled fresh, sunlight painted the floor, and Zim finally relaxed, still touching mom like a little guardian. To him, cleanliness wasn’t the goal—togetherness was. As long as he could feel her warmth, his world felt safe.
That day, mom cleaned the house, and Zim cleaned loneliness from his heart.
