The little baby sat close to his mother, his tiny hands reaching out in hope. His round eyes glistened with hunger, his small mouth opening for the comfort he knew so well — warm, sweet milk. Yet, once again, the old mother turned her head away. She shifted her body, making it impossible for the baby to latch on.
It was a heartbreaking sight. The baby didn’t understand why. All he knew was that his stomach ached and his heart longed for that soft, gentle moment when he could feel safe in his mother’s arms. But each time he tried, her rejection was the same — firm, unchanging, and silent.
The old mother’s fur was grayer now, her body thinner than before. Perhaps she was tired, perhaps her milk was no longer enough, or maybe she simply wanted the baby to start learning independence. Still, for the baby, these reasons meant nothing. He was too young to understand such changes.
Again, he cried — a sharp, desperate sound that echoed in the quiet air. His little face scrunched up, tears welling in his eyes. He pawed gently at her side, hoping this time she might give in. But the mother stood up, walked away slowly, and left him sitting alone.
The baby’s cries grew softer, turning into a pitiful whimper. He curled up in the spot where she had been, still warm from her presence, trying to find comfort in the fading scent of her fur.
No one could explain it to him. He didn’t know about age, exhaustion, or nature’s way of weaning. All he knew was the painful truth — his old mother always rejected him when he was hungry. And his tiny heart simply couldn’t understand why.
