Today was the first day little Timo came home with me. A tiny baby monkey, no more than a few months old, he had been rescued just days before. He was found abandoned, cold, and frightened—his eyes scanning the world for something familiar, but finding nothing.
When I picked him up for the first time, he was trembling. He didn’t cry, he didn’t make a sound. He just held on tightly to the corner of the towel he was wrapped in, his little fingers stiff and unsure. I whispered gently to him, “You’re safe now, Timo. I promise.”
As we walked into my home, he looked around with wide, quiet eyes. Everything was new—no trees, no monkey troop, no mother to snuggle into. Just me, some soft blankets, a few toys, and a heart ready to help him heal.
I set up a warm corner just for him with soft bedding, a teddy bear for comfort, and some mashed banana. But he didn’t eat. He didn’t move much. He just curled up, almost as if trying to disappear. His body was here, but his little heart… it was somewhere else.
I sat nearby, giving him space, but letting him know I was close. I watched him glance toward me a few times—curious, maybe unsure. I smiled every time, hoping to be a new kind of comfort for him. But the sadness in his eyes was deep. A quiet kind of sadness that comes from confusion, loss, and fear.
Later in the day, I gently reached out to hold his hand. He didn’t pull away. In fact, he held on. Just a little. It was a small gesture, but it meant everything.
By evening, I caught a glimpse of something more. When I gave him a warm bottle of milk, he hesitated… then drank slowly. When I stroked his back softly, he didn’t flinch. He even blinked slowly and gave the tiniest sigh—as if his body, for just one moment, believed he was safe.
It will take time. Time for him to trust me. Time for him to feel like this new place is home. Time for the sadness to lift from his tiny shoulders. But I will be here—every step of the way.
He may be small, but his feelings are big. And he doesn’t have to carry them alone anymore.
