It was a chilly evening, the kind that made the air feel crisp and the floors colder than usual. As the sun dipped behind the trees, little Monkey Lyly began her usual bedtime routine—stretching, yawning, and hugging her tiny blanket. But tonight, she had one special request. She wanted to sleep in the warm room, the one with the glowing heater that hummed like a gentle lullaby.
The moment she saw her mother walk toward the bedroom, Lyly rushed in front of her, arms lifted dramatically. She let out a soft, drawn-out whine—half complaint, half plea. “Mmmmmm… eeeeh…” Her mother paused, raising an eyebrow. Lyly wasn’t giving up. She tugged lightly at her mother’s sleeve, pointed toward the heater room, and repeated her tiny theatrical whimper, even tilting her head for added effect.
Her mother couldn’t help but laugh. Lyly’s expression was a mix of desperation and determination, her big eyes sparkling with hope. To prove her point, she waddled over to the heater room, pressed her tiny hands against the warm air, and let out a blissful sigh. Then she looked back with a pout that clearly said, See? I belong here.
But her mother wasn’t convinced yet. “Lyly,” she said gently, “your usual bed is warm enough.” Lyly dropped to her knees dramatically, like a baby actress mid-performance, and let out a soft fussing sound. Then she grabbed her blanket, hugged it to her chest, and marched straight into the heater room, plopping down as if claiming her territory.
Her mother followed, amused. Lyly scooted closer to the heater, curling her tail around herself like a shivering little kitten. Her tiny teeth chattered—exaggerated, of course. She was putting on a show now. When her mother finally gave in and sat beside her, Lyly let out the tiniest triumphant squeak.
Moments later, Lyly was sound asleep, her head resting on her mother’s lap, the warm glow of the heater reflecting on her peaceful face. Her whines had worked. She got her warm room, her cozy spot, and most importantly—her mother right beside her.
