Baby Monkey Ricky felt empty the moment his bath was finished. His tiny body was clean, wrapped in a soft cloth, his fur still warm and damp from careful hands. But inside, his belly twisted with hunger. The comfort of water was gone, and now only one thing mattered. Milk.
At first, Ricky made small sounds, soft and hopeful. His round eyes searched the room, following every movement. He smacked his lips, tongue peeking out as if tasting the milk he imagined. When nothing came, his face changed. His brows pulled together. His body tensed.
Then the crying started.
Ricky’s mouth opened wide, his voice loud for such a small baby. His legs kicked under the cloth, and his hands waved in the air, asking, demanding, pleading. Being clean didn’t matter anymore. Being hungry hurt. Every second felt too long.
His cries grew stronger, filled with frustration and need. His tiny chest rose and fell quickly. Hunger made him forget the warmth, forget the gentle cleaning, forget everything except the ache inside. Tears formed in his bright eyes, spilling down his clean cheeks.
Someone hurried closer, startled by the intensity of his cry. The cloth opened, and Ricky felt air on his skin again. He screamed louder, red-faced, shaking with impatience. He needed milk now.
Finally, the bottle came.
The moment the nipple touched his lips, Ricky froze. One second of shock. Then relief flooded his body. He latched on desperately, drinking fast, gulping as if afraid it might disappear again. His cries stopped instantly, replaced by eager sucking sounds.
His body relaxed with every swallow. His hands curled softly, gripping the bottle. His eyes half-closed, anger melting into comfort. The hunger faded, replaced by warmth and fullness.
When he finished, Ricky let out a tiny sigh. Clean, fed, and calm, he rested quietly, learning a simple truth of baby life. After care comes hunger. After hunger comes peace. And with milk, the world feels safe again.
