The furless creatures have made me a part of their nest. They have tied strips of animal skin to my legs, which I assume is an owl-adapted version of the funny animal skin bladders they wear over their talonless toes. I would have preferred if they had asked me formally, perhaps presented some choice bit of food, but then again, I did roost in the cave they provided for me, so maybe they were confused.
I’m not actually against the little strips, as they do have a shiny bit that sparkles, but I am rather upset about the tails that dangle from the shiny bit. The tails get tangly and then I end up hanging like a bat.
Even the Absolute Worst Great Horned Owl in All of Owldom is above a fruit-sucking, bug-scarfing bat.
At least, I would like to think this is true.
The creature with the brown frizz is asleep on the soft rock-shaped mound near the wall. The Gray Tail put a fluffy skin over her—I have determined that these are female mammalian creatures, perhaps large furless, tail-less descendants of squirrels? Regardless, I would like to run my beak through that fluffy skin covering her, but these tangly tails on my new leg sparkles are tied to an even longer vine, which is attached to this perch.
I tried to fly a little when the Brown Frizz first fell asleep. I ended up beak-first in the dust.
BAH! This is so boring.
The Brown Frizz shifts under her skin.
“Come here and give me that skin!” I squawk.
The Brown Frizz opens her soft, pink, beakless maw and grumbles.
I peck at the perch, try to give her some hints. “Skin!” I hoot. “I want to peck it.”
The Brown Frizz shuffles out of the room but leaves the skin on the soft rock.
“You forgot the skin!” I screech.
These furless creatures are not the brightest.
She comes back with a dripping warm mouse. Well, now that food’s here, I am up for eating. I chomp that mouse down in one gulp. The Brown Frizz looks surprised. What, she didn’t think I could eat a mouse whole? Just because I haven’t had many opportunities for such feasting doesn’t mean I can’t do it.
“Now, about the skin,” I chirp, trying a slightly different tone with the creature. “I would like to rip it to shreds. Would you be so kind?”
The creature blows some air at her head fur. That’s an odd display.
I stretch my ear tufts. Maybe she’s trying to communicate.
The creature’s face lights up. She waves her naked little wing-toes up by her head fur.
Is she trying to look like a great horned owl? Because she is failing. Miserably.
I screech for her to stop this silliness. “The skin,” I snap. “Bring it here.”
The creature looks around the room. How is she not understanding me? I am being very clear! She crawls across the floor to a corner. But wait—are there other skins?
“I am open to an offer of other skins if you would like to keep yours,” I chirp.
The creature crawls back. She has a longish, fattish root in her wing-toes that has tufts of fur dangling from either end.
What an odd little root.
The creature waggles the root. It squeaks.
Is there a mouse in that root?
“Creature, give me that root!” I squawk, and then hop off the perch. The creature drops the root and shuffles away from me.
Good—she knows her place.
What a fascinating root! And so wonderful for shredding. I clench it in my talons—it is very squishy, and—ho there! It squeaked again!
I dig into the root with beak and claw. I tear the tiny tendrils that make up its fibers. It is so satisfying to shred.
I am a great horned owl and I shred you, root!
I tear that root to tufts. But there’s no mouse in it. The squeaking came from this strange foul-tasting bladder, which I spit out.
The Brown Frizz has fallen asleep again, this time on her featherless wing on the ground. I would wake her up to get me another root with an actual mouse inside, but she does seem like a tired creature.
I hop onto a rock that the Gray Tail placed near my perch and mute, then hop back down and stomp into the little pool of water she left for me to cool my talons. Then I flutter up to the perch. Around me lie the ruins of the root. I have done well.
I fluff my feathers and give them a straightening with my beak, getting everything back in order. Moonlight sneaks in through a crack in the wall of the cave, and I can hear night noises: crickets scratching their legs, bugs buzzing through the dark, a rabbit munching in the grass. And then I hear the call of an owl. Not a great horned, but a big bird, a barred owl.
A threat.
But the threat is on the other side of this cave’s walls.
I shuffle my feet to get a better grip on the perch. Warm currents of air flow from the creature, and I concentrate on the thumping pulse of her heart.
I know I’m not supposed to like living here, but an owl has to admit: this nest is snug.