06/09/2025
“Well… this isn’t exactly what I had planned when I went out prowling that night. I was chasing moths, minding my own business, and then — bam — I found this cozy little box. Warm straw, soft feathers, and the faint smell of fresh supper. I thought, jackpot!
But then she looked at me — those giant golden eyes, wide as moons. And I froze. For a second, I thought she was going to boot me straight out with those talons. But instead… she shuffled over. Just like that. As if she were saying, ‘Fine. Sit. But behave yourself.’
So I did. And the strangest thing happened: the fluffballs didn’t scream, didn’t scatter. They just stared at me. You ever been sized up by four tiny owl chicks at once? Let me tell you — unnerving. Their faces are all the same: wide eyes, serious little beaks, like they’re judging your soul.
Now they treat me like I’m part of the gang. Sometimes they practice their little head-tilts at me, like I’m some exotic cousin. And I? I just purr and act like I own the place. Because honestly, I kind of do. Not bad for a stray cat, huh?”
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“When she first padded into my nest, I didn’t quite know what to make of her. A predator, yes — but not a threat. She didn’t crouch like a hunter, didn’t bare her teeth. She only looked tired, as if searching for a place to belong. So I watched. I listened. And I decided to let her stay.
It wasn’t long before she settled in among my brood. The chicks gawked at her — round eyes meeting round eyes — and then they simply accepted her, the way children do. No judgment, no suspicion. Just wonder. And perhaps a little delight at having a guardian with soft fur instead of feathers.
Now, in the quiet hours of night, I look at them all — four chicks, one cat — tucked together in straw and shadow. And I think: family is not always what you expect. It isn’t always feathers matching feathers. Sometimes it’s about who chooses to sit beside you, night after night, watching the dark together. In her stillness, in her strange but steady presence, I find comfort.
Perhaps she is not an intruder at all. Perhaps she was meant to be here, as much a part of my nest as the little ones I hatched myself. And so we keep watch together — two mothers, two night-creatures, two souls bound not by blood, but by the quiet knowing of who belongs.”
