“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.”
“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?”