The Silky Anteater: The Life of the Tiny, Nocturnal Tree-Dweller
Saturday, 28 June 2025
Down in the moist and wet tropical forests of Central and South America, something isn’t moving in the dense canopy cover. It is quite still, rolled in a tight ball, its head tucked under its arms and its partially prehensile tail wrapped around the branch upon which it lightly sleeps. This is the silky anteater – the smallest (and possibly the cutest – you be the judge) anteater species on the this, our ark in space.
The species has the skill of a contortionist and seems able to wrap its body into all sorts of positions in the pursuit of a peaceful day’s sleep. It is nocturnal, so in the day time it snoozes the hours away until the sun goes down and its time to feed again. Yet even though it only goes out at night, it isn’t exactly the lean and hungry type. Sometimes, only around 700 ants will be slurped up by its saliva-covered tongue, onto which the hapless Formicidae stick before being eaten alive.


It does occasionally pig out and eat as many as 5,000 during
its midnight (and onwards) feast. However, it moves quickly from one ant nest
to another – and it doesn’t feed on a single species either, even though it
prefers the smaller varieties. It moves
on for two reasons; first, it wants to get out before the ants mobilise and
strike back. It has also been suggested that the species is something of a
conservationist and avoids overfeeding on a single colony because, then, what
will it eat tomorrow?

Even so, the silky anteater
hardly meets its energy needs from its diet (which can include the occasional wasp
and wasp pupae). As such, during the day
it enters a torpid state. This is
a temporary period of low activity and reduced metabolism, somewhat akin to
hibernation but (obviously) shorter and less deep. In this state, the silky
anteater lowers its body temperature, reduces heart rate and respiration and becomes
very still and inactive. They are, however,
very light sleepers so that any approaching danger will wake them and result in
action (albeit very slow, groggy action).


It has as almost as many names as sleeping positions. Variously referred to as the dwarf anteater,
the pygmy anteater and the two-toed anteater, in its Trinidad and Tobago
enclave it also goes by the name of the “poor-me-one”. This is because when it is disturbed it makes
very plaintive, whimpering noises which the local people say sounds like it is
crying out “poor me, oh!”. No one likes
being woken up in the middle of a deep slumber, after all, especially when the
primary reason for being woken is usually attack.


How large are they? The picture above will give you an idea. Its size is not dissimilar to that of a
squirrel and its body length is usually a maximum of 45cm with a tail up to
26cm. Although occasionally greyish, the
fur of the majority of individuals is a golden yellow and is thick, always
appearing soft and shiny. Its tail is
partially prehensile, so it has a fifth limb (more or less), to help it in its nightly
journey through the canopy. Additionally, to help it climb and grip, the silky
anteater has two curved and sharp claws, which it also uses to fend off
predators, when attacked. Although it
looks like nature focused on the cute factor when designing the silky anteater,
despite its appearance, it is built to survive.


Its sleeping position, as odd as it looks, compacts the body
and offers some protection from predators (who are likely as discombobulated by
its odd shape as we are). If you don’t
know where the part of an animal you normally attack is, you might not
bother. The weird contortions also,
apparently, help conserve body heat.
However, some researchers suggest that it is to do with the tree in
which it is most commonly found. It draws
itself in, around and about to mimic the fruit of silk cotton trees, which
produce kapok fiber, a light, fluffy, silky substance surrounding the seeds. Let’s see.
Here’s a silk cotton tree capsule in full kapok production.

…and here’s a silky anteater.

Seems reasonable. So,
it may look defenceless but the silky anteater has evolved to maximise its defensive
powers.

If it is spotted and attacked by one of its predators (birds,
perhaps surprisingly, including eagle hawks, the harpy eagle and the spectacled
owl) then it tries its best, but it is slow and it does fall prey quite often,
so its main hope is not to be spotted at all.
Its main defence is hanging by its tail and holding its claws over its
face. Then it will lean forward and
pounce at the attacker – as quickly as it can pounce, which is not very. If it is successful in its slowmo pounce,
then its will use its claws to penetrate its attacker’s flesh. So, it must rely primarily on not being
noticed, of blending in with its silk cotton tree habitat.

Yet even though the camouflage is quite convincing, the
silky anteater will rarely sleep in the same tree for more than two days at a
stretch. Not only that, you will rarely
see more than one at a time, in any given place, unless it is a female with
young. This animal is most definitely not
the most social of beasts.

The silky anteater is solitary and spends its life alone
(apart from when caring for young). The
female has a fixed territory of around three hectares which border the
territories of other females. The male,
on the other hand, has a territory of up to 11 or 12 hectares. When individuals
of the same sex encounter each other, there is usually conflict.

You have probably already
guess that the male is polygamous and he roams with impunity, mating with any
females (usually three of them) that have their ranges within his own. He will help with making a nest and feeding
the young, but it appears that he is often absent. After all, he has to split his time three
ways.

The species lives longer in the wild than in captivity. In its natural environment, the silky
anteater lives to about three years. In captivity, one has been recorded as
living for two years and four months. So let’s leave it in the trees it call home,
wrapped around a branch, gently snoozing till night falls and it’s time, once
again, to slurp up a few thousand (give or take) ants.
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