The morning sun peeked through the soft curtain, casting golden streaks of light across the small room. Tiny Max had woken earlier than usual, his bright eyes scanning the room in hopes of finding his mother close by. But instead, he found himself sitting alone in his cozy corner, waiting. His little heart began to pound faster — mornings were always their special time together, filled with cuddles, warm milk, and gentle whispers.
Today, however, things felt different. Mom seemed distracted, moving quickly from one task to another. She tidied the bed, checked the laundry, and chatted with a neighbor outside, all while Max sat quietly, watching. At first, he stayed patient, but soon his tiny patience ran out.
Max let out a sharp squeak, his baby face scrunching up in frustration. He stomped his little feet on the soft mat, his eyes fixed on Mom as if demanding, “Don’t you see me here?” His furry cheeks puffed, and he crossed his arms — a miniature ball of indignation.
Mom turned at the sound, her eyes widening in surprise. She hurried over, scooping Max into her arms, but he leaned back slightly, refusing immediate forgiveness. The soft smell of her fur and the warmth of her embrace began to melt his anger, though he still let out a few huffy sounds for good measure.
She whispered, “I’m sorry, my little one. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Her voice was gentle, and soon she offered his warm milk, which Max finally accepted after a moment’s hesitation.
By the time he finished, his eyes softened, his earlier anger fading into sleepy comfort. Wrapped in Mom’s arms once more, Tiny Max knew he was loved — even if mornings sometimes got a little messy.
