Owly, the Squirrel. And fries.

Over the past few days, Aji has been looking for her house keys, which have mysteriously vanished. Knowing that my brother, Ms Kym-Kym’s Abhi Chacha, used to hide stuff in very innovative places (keys inside sofa backs, passports in luggage ready to be checked-in, Baba’s Air Force identity card in one of the million books we had, and so on) when he was about Kym’s age (something we were told he had inherited from his list of illustrious ancestors), we figured that the genetic flaw has been passed on and that we just need to live with it for the next few years (it is known to go away by the time the practitioner hits their teens).

The last time this happened (with Aji’s cupboard keys), and the little bear denied any connection to the alleged crime, Baba bear remembered how this information was extracted about 40 years ago when his kid bro used similar alibis, and so, waited for Kym-Kym to fall asleep before gently waking her up and interrogating her about the keys, which, in her state of half-sleep, she had given up the hiding place for.

However, once it was pointed out by the elder that such techniques are quite similar to the ones used in Guantanamo Bay to get the rather more dangerous inmates to confess to their crimes, and that we might as well waterboard her at this rate, and seeing how this was an unwinnable battle, Baba bear decided to forgo the future use of this barbaric practice. And all was well.

Till today, when having finally given up on the hope of ever finding those house keys, Aji green-lit some form of subterfuge (up to but not including third degree) to get her keys. And that is how, we (Mamma and Baba bears) found ourselves sitting down with little Baby bear, asking her what exactly she did with those keys.

Turns out she never really even so much as touched them. But, and this was said after a longish pause and a very (very) deep exhale, that maybe, just maybe Owly may have had something to do with this.

Ah, who, we enquired, might this Owly be. It seems Owly is a male (yes, we did ask for their pronouns; that’s how we roll at the Bear household) Squirrel who wears yellow running shoes, tiny shiny yellow shorts, a bright red plastic jacket, with a bejewelled pair of sunglasses (Baba bear noted wryly that he sounded gay as fuck, to which Mamma bear shushed him while giving him ‘the look’, and Baby bear burst into a giggle, with Baba bear shrugging and saying he has many gay friends and they’d agree with his initial analysis; by the way, we do not censor words, and especially the word ‘fuck’ around the Bear household), and has a propensity for hunting for stuff that he can, and pun most certainly intended, squirrel away in the various hiding places he loves to discover around the house. We were also informed, casually and just as general knowledge, that he loves burgers.

Naturally, our next question was that if, and that’s only if, Owly had anything to do with the disappearance of Aji’s house keys, would he, erm, just thinking aloud, be wiling to give up the hiding place for say, just a random thought, something small like, and we don’t mean to bribe him, but just wondering what he’d do in a hypothetical situation, a McDonald’s Fillet-O-Fish? After another (very) long pause, we were told that this proposal would be forwarded to Owly, adding quickly that he also likes fries with his burger and asking if that would be part of the deal. Of course, we agreed hurriedly, for one cannot possibly have a burger without fries. How about a large Thums Up to wash it down, was the next question, to which Mamma bear informed the negotiator gently that she was now pushing it, at which time, she was in turn (as gently) informed that it wasn’t for her at all, but Owly, which we agreed was a rather selfless thought, but erm, no, there would be no Thums Up because it is bad for squirrels.

And that is how, ladies & gentlemen, Aji got her house keys back (they were in the back of the lowermost drawer of her dresser, where she keeps her extra shampoo, serums, cotton buds, and hair dye), hidden (well, not hidden hidden, if you know what we mean, but kept safe) in a small nondescript pouch, nicely zipped and placed under the newspaper that is used to line the drawer’s floor. Well, Owly does get into places normal humans can’t. So, well done there.

The burger (and fries) shall be ordered later in the evening, once we are back from our horse-riding lesson. Rather coincidentally, Owly, we were told, would be back by then too and wouldn’t mind sharing the said meal with Baby bear, best friends that they are.

And now, ladies & gentlemen, I know why Ms Kym-Kym can’t for the life of her ‘get’ Calvin & Hobbes. She tried it once and told me she was confused about whether Hobbes was a real tiger or a toy. And I told her that she wasn’t seeing it. The truth, I realised today, was that it was me who wasn’t seeing it. Hobbes is, and this should be clear as day to anyone who has had a childhood, as real as any real tigers out there. My bad, Kym. I missed that one.