The cats seemed bored with the game and went out to find more prey. I found a small white, lacy cover. It seemed the right colour for the owl, a mark of respect. I flapped the curtainn and he flew up, bouncing again against the wall and tumbling onto the stairs. While he was dazed I wrapped him in the cloth and took him out into the night. I unfolded him onto the tin roof of my woodshed and immediately he spread wings and flew away, yelping as he went.
Afterwards I couldn’t sleep. The appearance of owls often marks a shift in my life. It did this time too, but that’s another story. All I will say for now is that I am so glad I could rescue him before he battered himself to death in fright.