Early in the morning, the soft light of dawn stretched across the yard, casting golden shadows on the dry leaves. Perched quietly on a big, dried tree near the yard was a tiny baby monkey named Kimo. His frail body leaned against the rough bark, shivering slightly in the cool breeze. Normally, he’d be swinging and playing, full of energy and curiosity—but not today.
Kimo was sick.
He hadn’t moved much since sunrise. His small arms clutched the tree tightly as if the bark gave him comfort. Occasionally, a soft moan escaped from his lips. His tummy hurt, and he felt dizzy. The other monkeys were already up and active in the distance, but Kimo stayed behind—silent, alone, and clearly not well.
The caregiver spotted him from afar, concerned to see him not following his usual playful routine. As they approached slowly, they could hear faint, heartbreaking cries. Kimo’s eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow, and his fur was matted slightly from sweat. The once vibrant baby was now quiet and weak.
The caregiver gently called his name, climbing up carefully to reach him. At first, Kimo didn’t respond, but when a soft hand touched his back, he leaned into it with the last bit of strength he had. It was as if he’d been waiting all morning for help to come.
He was carefully brought down from the tree and wrapped in a warm towel. A small bottle of electrolyte-rich milk was prepared, and Kimo slowly sipped it, tears drying on his cheeks.
That tree had kept him company through the hardest morning of his little life. Now, safe in warm arms, Kimo finally rested—his tiny body beginning to recover, with hope returning in the touch of love and care
