The Owl Who Liked Sitting on Caesar by Windrow Martin

Author:Windrow, Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
ISBN: 9781448170432
Publisher: Transworld
Published: 2014-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

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Mumble continued to take an intelligent interest in the written word, and when I was sitting reading with a newspaper on my lap she might suddenly arrive out of nowhere, landing in the middle of it with a crash and happily kicking holes in it. When I was lying on the sofa she would sometimes land unexpectedly on my chest and walk up to my face, to investigate my beard. One summer evening I was stretched at my ease with a book propped on my chest; Mumble was off about her own concerns somewhere, and I was completely absorbed in my reading. Suddenly, and absolutely without warning, she landed heavily in the narrow space between book and face. My protest left my brain as ‘Good GRIEF, Mumble!’, but reached my ears as ‘F’noog F’NEEF, Unguh!’, since her fluffy front was pressing hard against my mouth. She apparently construed the resultant burst of warm air up her petticoats as a physical liberty, because she bent forwards and carefully bit me on the bridge of my nose.

In the autumn of 1979, when she was about eighteen months old, I noted an unwelcome change in Mumble’s habits. Sometimes, instead of (or after) sitting on my shoulder, she would take up position on top of my head. I suppose that the attraction was extra height and superior all-round visibility, which was fair enough; but it involved the frequent shuffling around of sharp claws to adjust her balance, and the subsequent take-off kicks could be quite painful.

Specific occasions when she chose to do this included any time when I used the telephone in the hallway. This seemed to provoke in her a positively childish competition for my attention. She might be sitting at a window gazing serenely over the roofscape, or dozing contentedly on top of a door; but if the phone rang, or I dialled out, then within a moment she would arrive on my scalp. She would squeak peevishly, pecking downwards at the handset or my ear, and then jump to the crook of my arm and try to bite through the dangling spiral cable. Callers who were ignorant of my domestic arrangements sometimes found the resulting three-way conversation confusing. I hesitated to share with them the fact that I was conducting it with an owl sitting on my head, for fear that the more conventionally minded clients might think such behaviour unprofessional.

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