The Owl-Girl

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“I’m an owl,” she said.

The wide-eyed stare I gave her looked far more owl-like than she did.

“You don’t believe me?”

“You have no feathers,” I replied.

“My feathers are on the inside.”

“Inside?”

“Yes. I was born with my wings inside, my feathers, beak and talons, too.” She cocked her head to one side as if to prove it. “Do you believe me now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to believe, but I doubt very much you’re an owl even if you think you are.”

“I could eat a mouse,” she suggested.

“No! I mean, please, no.”

“Too late,” she hooted and reached inside her fluffy coat.

The girl pulled out a white chocolate mouse, licked its nose, then swallowed it whole.

“My apologies,” I said in an effort to humour her. “You are indeed an owl.”

“Yes,” she said licking her lips. “Now, tell me, how long have you been a rabbit?”

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