Unless you are Harry Potter, you probably don't live with an owl in your house. But writer Martin Windrow lived with his "one true owl" long before Harry met Hedwig, as we discover in the charming book, The Owl Who Liked Sitting on Caesar [Bantam Press, 2014; Guardian Bookshop; Amazon UK; Amazon US/kindle US]. Written by a British historian and military expert employed at a London publishing house, this poignant memoir tells the story of a man who fell under the spell of an extraordinary owl thanks in part to the influence of his older brother, a falconer.
Perched on the back of a sunlit chair was something about 9 inches tall and shaped rather like a plump toy penguin with a nose-job. It appeared to be wearing a one-piece knitted jumpsuit of pale grey fluff with brown stitching, complete with an attached balaclava helmet. From the face-hole of the fuzzy balaclava, two big, shiny black eyes gazed up at me trustfully. 'Kweep', it said quietly. Enchanted, I leaned closer. It blinked its furry grey eyelids, then jumped very deliberately up on to my right shoulder. It felt like a big, warm dandelion head against my cheek, and it smelt like a milky new kitten. 'Kweep', it repeated, very softly.
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