“Weeeee! Weeeee!”
The piercing cries echoed through the quiet house. Baby Robby, a tiny golden-furred pet monkey, lay curled in his fleece blanket nest—his bottle untouched beside him. His belly ached with hunger, but the formula had gone cold hours ago.
Three hours. That’s how long he’d been crying.
His human “mom” had left in a hurry—keys jangling, door slamming—after his morning feeding. But now the sun was high, his stomach gnawing itself empty, and still, no one came.
Robby clutched his stuffed banana toy, sucking desperately on its fabric corner. His whimpers grew weaker, his body shivering despite the warm room.
“Mama…?”
Then—a jingle of keys!
Robby perked up, ears twitching. The door creaked open, and there she stood—guilt written all over her face, a takeout bag in hand.
“Oh, baby! I’m so sorry!”
In seconds, she had him cradled against her chest, a warm bottle pressed to his lips. Robby latched on, drinking so fast he choked, his tiny hands kneading her shirt like he used to knead his real mother’s fur.
Between gulps, he let out a shuddering sob—half relief, half scolding.
His human mom kissed his head, whispering, “Never again, sweet boy. Never again.”
But Robby, his belly finally full, just sighed and nuzzled closer.
