Hoot Of A Friend

Lounging in the garden.

Lounging in the garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve hung out with other moggies/kitties, Pippy, the ringtail possum and even a homeless, woofer, Snout. Never would I have thought that I’d be friends with a feathered puffball—mmm… usually a tasty treat—but Otis, a tawny frogmouth is different.

Feathered balls can be annoying too—like The General, Leader of the Myna Birds, who I’ve been trying to chomp and de-puff since he and others dive-bomb me when I’m outside, see (Assault On The Furball).

Otis is almost my size. Like me, she is a hunter and has a killer beak, savouring crawly things and the odd mouse. I’d thought she’d be hostile, after I’d killed so many of her relatives—only smaller species, but she’s smart as, been around and knows the territory. Otis can spot an insect when she’s way up high on a tree branch, but she’s a bit rough around the feathers grooming wise though.

She perches on top of the big post, where the human hangs out things, splattering droppings on the path—at least I bury mine.

The human came out looking for me and stopped suddenly when she spied Otis. Otis wasn’t scared, sensing the human was a good egg and cocked her head. Slowly, the human crouched down and started talking to her. I was close-by, with my belly on the grass.

The human later told a friend how she had her own ‘owl and pussycat’. Please… Otis is an owlette and I’m a moggie. Humans are stupid sometimes.

Miaow

P.S. The human couldn’t take a snap of Otis in the dark.

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