In a quiet village tucked near the edge of a dense forest, the line between human homes and the wilderness was often blurred. Monkeys came down from the trees looking for fruit or leftovers, and while most people shooed them away, the monkeys had grown bold. Some were friendly, others cheeky, but one tiny baby monkey — still clumsy, soft, and scared — found herself in deep trouble one sweltering afternoon.
The baby monkey had lost her mother.
Nobody in the village really knew how or why. Some said the mother had been injured by a dog. Others said she had fallen from a tree and never returned. But whatever the truth, the baby monkey had been alone for two days, wandering through backyards, climbing fences, and squeaking pitifully for comfort. Her fur was messy, her eyes full of confusion. She didn’t understand why the warm arms she used to sleep in were gone.
She had stopped eating.
Too young to find food by herself, the baby monkey was weak with hunger. Her tiny hands trembled, and her belly was so empty it made soft growling sounds. That’s when the smell of cooked rice drifted from the open kitchen window of a villager named Srey Pov.
Srey Pov had been cooking lunch for her grandchildren — rice with grilled fish and some papaya slices. Her kitchen was simple but open, like many in rural Cambodia. Wooden shelves held plates and spices. A single table sat near the back, and the fire from the traditional clay stove warmed the whole room. She stepped out briefly to get water from the well.
And that’s when the baby monkey climbed onto the windowsill.
The smell of food was irresistible. Shaking with weakness, the little monkey pushed her tiny body up, using all her strength to reach the shelf just inside the window. Her feet slipped once, then again, but she finally made it onto the wooden ledge. She crawled slowly toward the rice bowl, her eyes wide and her stomach growling louder.
Then she made a mistake.
She knocked over a cup — the metal clanged loudly onto the floor.
Srey Pov heard the noise and rushed back into the kitchen. What she saw made her gasp — a wild, thin, trembling baby monkey crouched beside her rice bowl, too scared to move but too hungry to stop.
“Ei! Monkey!” she cried out, grabbing a long wooden stick to scare it away.
The baby monkey panicked. She tried to jump back toward the window but her legs weren’t strong enough. Her paws slipped, and she tumbled into the pan of raw vegetables. Green beans flew everywhere. She let out a high-pitched cry, terrified and stuck.
Srey Pov didn’t want to hurt the monkey — she was just scared it would bite her, or worse, come back with more monkeys. She tried to corner it, waving her arms and shouting. But the baby just squeaked and backed into a dark corner under the table, shaking violently.
By now, a small crowd had gathered. Children peeked through the doorway. A few elders came to see what the noise was. Srey Pov explained the monkey must have smelled the food and climbed in. One boy whispered, “I’ve seen that baby before… she’s alone. Her mother never came back.”
That changed everything.
Srey Pov looked again at the frightened baby monkey, cowering behind a basket, too weak to even climb up. Her small ribs showed under her fur. Her eyes were filled with fear, but also… need. Not mischief. Not aggression. Just hunger, and loneliness.
Her stick dropped to the ground.
“Poor thing,” Srey Pov muttered, kneeling slowly. “You’re just a baby.”
She poured some warm rice into a small bowl and placed it near the edge of the basket. Then she stepped back. The baby monkey didn’t move at first. But the smell was too strong, and her hunger too deep. She crawled forward, step by step, and finally reached the rice. With shaky hands, she began to eat — soft little bites, quick and desperate, rice grains sticking to her cheeks.
The villagers stood silently, watching.
From that day on, Srey Pov changed. She didn’t want a pet, but she also couldn’t ignore the little life depending on scraps. She made a small corner of her yard safe — a mat under the shade, with a tiny bowl of food and water. The baby monkey began to come more often, sometimes sleeping in the warmth of the morning sun, sometimes playing with the kitchen broom or chasing butterflies.
She grew stronger.
Some people laughed, calling her “the monkey chef” for feeding a wild animal. Others admired her kindness. But Srey Pov didn’t care. She just saw a child that needed help — even if it was a monkey.
Weeks later, forest officials came through the village. They were rescuing animals displaced from a nearby deforestation project. Srey Pov told them about the baby monkey, now healthy and playful. With a soft goodbye, she handed the little one over, wrapped in a scarf like a tiny baby.
The monkey turned and looked at her one last time — not with fear, but with trust.
And just like that, she was gone.
Srey Pov returned to her kitchen, poured some tea, and smiled to herself.
She didn’t catch the monkey.
But maybe… she caught something more important: compassion.
