Dry Toast

“I’d rather you not,” cooed a hollow sounding voice from high up in the branches of the old Spruce tree behind my house.

“Is someone up there?” I answered back, redirecting my flashlight towards the direction of the voice. My flashlight hit upon two large glowing discs that immediately turned away from me in an eerie horizontal orbit.

“Can you knock it off?” implored the voice with a bit more frustration, as I tried to steady my flashlight on what appeared to be a medium-sized barn owl. Its head was dramatically turned away from me, facing the complete opposite direction of its body.

“Did you just say something?” I asked, desperate to know if my mind had finally betrayed me.

“Yeah, but could you turn off that damned light?” screeched the owl as he rapidly turned his venomous gaze back and fixated his stare upon me. I immediately felt small and stupid, standing there in my sweatpants, under the Spruce tree with my flashlight pointed directly at him.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...” my voice trailed off and I flicked off the light, staring dumbfounded at my shoes.

“I’ve been trying to stalk this mouse for over an hour,” he hissed, “and here you come, stomping out with your bright light and your heavy feet, hollering for someone named Missy. I mean, c’mon! Who names anything Missy, for Christ’s sake?”

My heart was thumping in my chest as I bashfully answered, “It’s my wife’s cat. We moved out here a few months ago from Seattle and she gets super paranoid if the cat doesn’t come in at night. She thinks a fox or coyote is going to eat her.”

The owl laughed, I think. At least it sounded like what I imagine an owl laugh to sound like. It was a rapid succession of raspy inhales and exhales, with a tiny squeal punctuating each exhale. “Well, if it’s one of those prissy indoor city cats, then I’d say your wife might be right; those coyotes are no joke, and the foxes are pretty fierce, too. Matter of fact, I saw one earlier, over by the pond, hunting moles I think.”

I turned my gaze towards the pond, a few hundred yards away. The moon was settling in for the night and the water was glassy and still. “I don’t suppose you have seen a fluffy grey and white cat?” I mumbled, at a loss for any better words in the presence of a talking owl.

“No. Like I said earlier, I have been hunting this mouse for the better part of an hour. And now, I have no idea where it disappeared to. Back to square one I guess.”

I drew a small line with my feet in the dirt, just to make sure that I was, in fact, a solid person made of bones and meat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrupt your hunting. I just need to find this cat.”

The owl looked down at me. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and now I could see his judgmental gaze peering upon me with a mixture of pity and amusement. His head turned in an amazingly frightening ninety degree angle and his dark eyes fixated on me, framed by his big heart shaped white face.

“It’s okay,” he answered, slowly straightening his face again into a more natural and slightly less threatening position. “My wife won’t let me back into the nest until I find her a big juicy mouse for dinner. She’s pregnant and her cravings are very…intense.”

Just then, the sliding glass door opened and the outside was filled with the scents and sounds of the inside: pot roast in the oven, freshly baked bread on the table, and Billie Holiday on the record player. Cravings, I thought, remembering that just this morning, Natalie had rejected my offerings of scrambled eggs for breakfast, in favor of a small piece of dry toast. She’d nibbled it cautiously while poring over an article on the pros and cons of bat boxes.

“ALLEN!” she shouted, her charming blonde head poking out into the cold. “Allen, where are you? I found Missy! She was under the bed!”

I shrugged and yelled back, “Okay! I’ll be right in!” I turned back to the owl to find him crouching down, gearing up to take flight.

“Women,” he muttered, talons uncurling from the branch as he flew off. I could hear his wheezy laugh, sounding like scratches on dry toast, echoing through the darkness, all the way until he reached the pond and disappeared into the moonlight.