Who Loves You Baby?

I’d been feeling it lately and I quite didn’t know what was causing it.

I felt the gaze on me but I couldn’t pinpoint where the eyes were coming from or who it was that was watching me.

I’ve always been sensitive to things which might be considered otherworldly, namely that which might be spiritual in nature (a la Haley Joel Osment – ‘I see dead people.’) so I was convinced we had a ghost in the house (I named her Sylvia).

Last night, it was all revealed to me.

There is no ghost (sorry Sylvia).

Instead, I have become the Tippi Hedren of my home and I am being stalked by a group of birds that have taken over my living room. Actually, they are not birds – they are, and I whisper, owls.

Yvonne decided late last year that owls were going to be her new obsession and Yvonne does obsession better than anyone I know.

Before I could say Hedwig, my living room was full of owls. The influx of the critters is certainly not as bad as the Leaf Motif craze of 2000 (our home looked like a forest) or the Scrapbook Paper addiction of 2004 (I could stock a small store) or the Kitty Cat collection of 2008 (if she couldn’t have a real cat because of my allergies, she was going to fill my house with fake felines), but the owls are everywhere with ceramic, plastic, wood and something that looks like twigs shaping the creatures.

They are strategically placed all over my home and they all have their eyes on me. They see the discomfort on my face and they sense my fear. This is literally a who’s who (no pun intended) of gothically cloaked birds. Should they ever magically come to life, surely this specific parliament will attack and the late Hitchcock will get his unintended sequel as a bald, fat man scurries over sofa, ottoman and recliner to elude their revolt.

Sitting quietly in my living room, Yvonne turns to me and says, ‘Who loves you baby?’, the statement giving me pause as I simply smile back at her without answering.

Then I look around the room and all I hear is a cacophony of ‘whos’ from the visitors who are nestled in my home.

Who?
Who?
Who?
Who?

Who indeed?

Somehow, I don’t think this love is coming to me from any of these owls.

And, despite her need to surround me with these nocturnal birds of prey, I guess it is Yvonne who loves me and it is she who will protect me should when my new roommates turn on me.

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