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Mama's Baby

Nighttime screeching

By Kristen SladePublished 2 years ago 7 min read
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(photo from BeChewy)

I always hated that raspy, haunting cry outside my window. It started just a few weeks before school got out for summer vacation when I was in fifth grade. The first time I heard it, I ran screaming into Mom’s room, sure there was a ghost right outside my window. After a thorough investigation by Dad, the culprit was found, nestled in a little hole in the oak tree growing up beside our house. Despite our considerable distance from any barns, we had gained a new resident. A barn owl.

I hated it. Far from the soft hooting of other owls, this thing would make a racket that invaded my dreams, convincing my mind that I was being chased by some unearthly phantom. I begged Dad to get rid of it, but he simply said, “It isn’t doing us any harm, Jessie.” So the owl stayed.

*

I lay outside on the soft grass of the backyard, my dutiful companion Cuttles curled up at my side. Everyone always thinks her name is ‘Cuddles’, but it’s not. I named her ‘Cuttles’ for her sharp claws, which she raked across my forearm when we first brought her home as a kitten three years back. It wasn’t her fault. I was holding her when a Harley motorcycle came roaring down the street, startling the poor kitty.

She never scratched me anymore, though. And she spent most of her time sleeping. That was okay though. The roundness of her belly indicated a bundle of fun was coming very, very soon. Perhaps at 12 years old I was too old to play with kittens, but it wasn’t as though I was going to find anyone else to play with. Not anymore.

I sat up, suddenly blinking away wetness at the corners of my eyes. I decided I needed a snack. Preparing myself for the inevitable questioning about school and whether I’d done my homework, I marched inside. Cuttles stretched, watched me, and then curled back down to sleep.

Dad was in the kitchen making himself a peanut butter sandwich. Literally, though. Just peanut butter. No honey, no jelly. Bleh. Mom was probably in her room again.

Dad smiled when he saw me. “Hey, kiddo. Where have you been? I didn’t see you get home from school.”

“I was just hanging outside for a little,” I said, shrugging and opening the fridge. Nada. Unless I wanted some leftover tuna casserole.

“So you haven’t done your homework yet?”

I sighed, shutting the fridge. “I was going to do that right now,” I lied, turning away to avoid more questions.

I trudged down the hall, feet seeming to grow heavier with each step. To get to my room, I had to walk past my parents’ room. And I could see the door open a crack. I walked as quietly as I could, studiously staring forward at my own door at the end of the hall.

My traitorous eyes flicked to the side as soon as I reached my parents’ door. I could see Mom in there, sitting on the bed and looking exhausted. Her eyes were red from crying and it looked like she still hadn’t been able to sleep. I hurried to my own room, barely holding in the tears as I slammed the door shut behind me.

It wasn’t fair. After eight whole months of waiting, of painting a nursery and buying little blue pajamas, it wasn’t fair that Mom had come home last week empty handed.

I dug ferociously into my backpack, yanking out my homework so hard it ripped. I growled at it and ripped it the rest of the way in half. That would show it.

Then I taped it back together and tried to work on my math problems. It was very hard to do through tears.

*

Cuttles kittens finally came. They were itty-bitty, with scrawny little legs and eyes that couldn’t even open. Six of them, two grey, three black, and one calico. I gave Cuttles an extra ladle of milk in congratulations. Inside, I felt a deep sense of relief. Somewhere, deep down, I’d been terrified to come outside one day and Cuttles would be skinny again, but her kittens would be nowhere to be found.

The kittens started to get more limber, playing with each other and moving around a bit more. My favorite was the runt, the little calico. I named him Brian. But around Mom and Dad, I just called him kitty.

One morning, halfway through summer vacation, I went outside to find only five kittens vying for space on Cuttles tummy to nurse. Little Brian was nowhere to be found. I searched for hours in vain. Mom and Dad tried to console me, but nothing worked. Cuttles seemed sad too. She barely ate the food I gave her and seemed to wander around the yard aimlessly, looking for her lost little kitten.

It wasn’t fair. No mama should have to lose her baby.

I lay awake that night, blinking away tears of anger and sadness. The stupid barn owl was being so noisy I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I tried.

Then I remembered something I’d heard in school. Thomas Fin, one of the boys in my class, told us how owls liked to carry away little animals, even kittens, during the night to eat them. The more I thought of it, the more certain, and horrified, I became. That stupid, annoying, evil owl had eaten Brian. He’d taken Cuttles baby from her.

I tried to think of proper revenge. In all honestly, I was a little afraid of the creature. It made such scary noises, and I’d seen pictures of owls’ claws and beaks. I’d never taken the time to get a good look at the creature up in my own tree because I was too scared of losing my eyes.

Finally, I remembered that owls are nocturnal. That meant it would go hunting at night, leaving its nest behind at some point. When it did, I was going to climb up that tree and destroy its house. That would show it, and then maybe it would leave and find a real barn to live in.

The next night, I stood dutifully beside my window, watching and waiting. The owl did its usual nighttime ritual of screeching its raspy cry, but eventually I saw a dark shape fly away from the tree.

I hurried outside, careful not to make much noise lest I wake my parents. Flashlight in hand, I started to shimmy up the tree. The branches were low enough that I was able to climb up without too much struggle, although it had admittedly been much easier back when I was in fourth grade.

I finally found the hole in the tree. With a sense of vengeful glee I shone the light inside to reveal the home of the evil creature.

Inside, I did indeed find a nest. And inside that nest were two little eggs.

My heart plummeted all the way down to my slippered feet. If I destroyed the nest, then what would happen to the eggs? To the…babies?

No mama should ever have to lose her baby.

My anger melted away into exhaustion and I slunk back down the tree like a dog with its tail between its legs. I just stood there for a while in the cool summer air, staring up at that nest. Eventually, I saw a dark shape swoop towards the tree. It landed on the branch right outside the nest. Before going in, it swiveled a curious little head to look at me, eyes glinting in the moonlight.

It wasn’t anything like the pictures I’d seen. It was a tiny thing, probably only about a foot tall. If it had tried to take one of Cuttles kitchens, she’d have shredded it to pieces.

I gave the owl a little nod and then slipped quietly back inside.

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About the Creator

Kristen Slade

Hey all! I am a graduate from BYU in Provo with a masters in PE. I have a passion for the outdoors, physical activity, sports, and health, but I also love writing! I love my parents and all eleven of my siblings!

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