Little A Tong was having one of his quiet, moody mornings. The sky was soft and cloudy, the trees swaying gently in the breeze—perfect weather for play. But A Tong had something else in mind: sitting still and staring at Mom with those big, expressive eyes.
Mom was full of energy, already climbing trees and calling him with playful squeaks. “Come on, A Tong!” she chirped, her tail swinging with excitement. She patted a low branch, motioning for him to join her.
But A Tong just sat on the ground, legs spread out, face pouty, and eyes locked right onto Mom. His gaze was strong—almost dramatic—as if to say, “You can’t make me.”
Mom tilted her head, surprised. Usually, A Tong loved climbing. But today, something had shifted. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was just being stubborn. Or maybe he wanted extra cuddles first. Either way, he wasn’t moving.
She climbed down and nudged him gently with her nose. A Tong blinked slowly, still refusing. Then he crossed his arms—a tiny little monkey pout in full form.
Mom sighed, then sat beside him. She began grooming his fur, whispering to him in monkey talk, brushing away dust from his soft coat. Slowly, A Tong’s eyes softened. He leaned into her, still sulking, but clearly appreciating the love.
Finally, after a few minutes of silence and snuggles, A Tong stood up. He placed one little hand on the tree and looked back at Mom.
“Are you ready now?” her eyes asked.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t cheer. But he climbed that tree anyway—slowly, dramatically, and with just enough sass to remind everyone: A Tong plays when he wants to play.
