The early morning sun peeked through the window, painting the room with soft golden light. Mom moved quietly but purposefully — today was feeding time for her tiny rescued baby monkey, a fragile little boy still fighting to grow strong. Every step she took was filled with care and precision.
She started by thoroughly sterilizing every bottle and nipple, making sure not a single germ remained. The faint hiss of boiling water and the gentle clink of glass echoed in the kitchen. Mom’s eyes stayed focused, knowing that even the smallest bit of uncleanliness could make her little one sick. After everything was spotless, she mixed the nutrient milk carefully — not too hot, not too cold — just the perfect warmth that felt like a mother’s touch.
Meanwhile, the tiny monkey lay wrapped in a soft towel, his chest rising and falling quickly with little whimpers. His fur was still thin and his belly small; he looked around with sleepy, innocent eyes, waiting for his mom. When he heard the sound of her footsteps, his little hands twitched, and he let out a faint cry — a sound so weak, yet so full of life.
Mom sat beside him and gently lifted him into her arms. “It’s okay, my little fighter,” she whispered lovingly. She tilted the sterilized bottle toward his lips, and he began to suckle, his tiny mouth making soft sounds as the warm milk filled his tummy. He paused sometimes to breathe, looking up at her face as if to say, thank you, Mommy.
Tears welled in Mom’s eyes as she watched him drink. Every drop of milk carried her hope — hope that he would grow stronger, that he would never have to suffer hunger or cold again. When he finally finished, he gave a little sigh and curled up against her chest, completely content.
Mom smiled, holding him close, feeling his heartbeat steady against her own. The sterilized bottles stood on the table — silent proof of her devotion.
In that peaceful morning, surrounded by love and care, one tiny life was slowly healing — one warm sip at a time.
