He hadn’t planned to stop at the animal market. He only came to buy fruit, maybe vegetables for the week. But something made him turn down a narrow path lined with cages and cardboard boxes. The smell was strong — animals packed too close, their soft cries mixing with the shouts of sellers and the hum of careless footsteps passing by.
That’s when he saw it — the baby monkey. So small he could fit in two hands, curled in a rusty cage no bigger than a shopping basket. Its fur was patchy, clinging to thin ribs that rose and fell with every weak breath. Tiny fingers gripped the cold wire, eyes blinking slowly, as if too tired to stay awake but too scared to close them.
Beside him, the vendor bragged: “Healthy baby! Rare! Good price!” But he could see the truth — the little one’s tail dragged in filth at the bottom of the cage, where leftover fruit skins and dry leaves offered no warmth. Flies landed on its eyes; it didn’t even flinch.
He knelt down, meeting the baby monkey’s gaze. For a moment, the tiny creature lifted its head, hopeful — maybe seeing something kind for the first time that day. He felt something break inside him.
People passed by, uninterested. Children pointed and laughed at the other cages — parrots, marmots, turtles stacked in cracked boxes. But his eyes stayed on the baby monkey, so fragile and lost in this noisy place.
He reached through the bars, careful not to startle it. A small, cold hand touched his finger. It didn’t pull away. He knew then he couldn’t just walk past and pretend he hadn’t seen.
Poor thing — alone, sick, waiting for rescue or ruin. And now he was the only chance this tiny life might have left.
