My friend the crow

Crows can be awfully good friends

Yeah, so I know what you are thinking. This is going to be another silly story that ends in a crazy fight and someone or something will get splattered. Thing is that I really actually do want it to be just that. But I shall resist the urge.

Let me tell you instead about my friend the crow. Actually, he is called Msieur The Crow. Capitalization on all three words. I know that because after he slammed into my bay window in the study for the umpteenth time, I got tired of it and opened the window to shoo the flying critter away.

Only he zipped in right past me and perched on the head of my leather office chair and proceeded to preen his feathers. I of course grabbed up a newspaper and began to roll it up to use it as an impromptu bat.

That's when he, Msieur The Crow spoke to me. "I really wouldn't do that, were I you." He fixed me with a beady, intelligent look. One side of his head cocked towards me, beak open.

"Why don't you put down the newspaper, close the window, and have a seat over here." He flapped his wings briefly and sailed over to the top of my bookcase as he spoke. Landing, he once again took up the preening. I noticed his feathers were a rather robust and shiny black, which certainly did not require any additional care.

Despite the fact that my mind continued to operate somewhat, taking in this new development of talking avian, my body descended into a complete fugue. I stood stock still and I confess that I must have begun to drool. I suspect this because my new companion spoke up again. Once more a rather cheery contralto.

"Close your mouth, you are leaking fluids. And do please take a seat. I really want to tell you about an important development." He dipped his head as he spoke and turned this way and that as if to examine me from more than one angle. Although with the way he was turning about, I think it was also to show off his sleek feathered form.

I stumbled to my chair and made to sit. But before I could settle into the familiar leather folds, the "crow" - my mind supplied - spoke up again. This time it sounded huffy.

"I think I did say to close the window first, did I not? You are truly not the most cooperative of beings are you?" Again that cocked head and obviously intelligent if rather worryingly feral look.

I stepped back to the window and yanked the lip down, closing it.

"Ah, much better. So, let's at least introduce one another. I am Msieur The Crow." The crow gestured to itself with one of its wings. "That's a capital M a capital T and a capital C." He dipped his body in a bow.

That crow looked at me again from his perch up on the bookcase. "You, Obasanjo Ojemi, need not speak as I see you are having some mental challenges with this situation." He cackled at that. Sounding every bit like the crow he obviously had to be.

After a second or two of the cackling, he shuffled about in a circle and then fixed me with another look. "So, look, let's be friends. I know how bored you are of things and I think perhaps it's time you had a good adventure." He paused, obviously waiting for some response.

I offered none. I could hardly comprehend how some bird was now holding court in my own home, speaking at me as he were a prefect talking to some wet behind the ears school-boy.

After a moment of patient observation, Msieur The Crow sighed and then continued speaking. "Also, you are a very dull fellow and honestly you'll never amount to anything without me."

That of course did it. I mean, a flying talking crow was entirely numbing to the mind. But a talking crow that willfully cast aspersions at my own personage. No, that of course would not - pardon the pun - fly.

I rose right out of my seat, fists balled up, and I rounded on Msieur The Crow, who had reared back in an overly human gesture and was imperiously awaiting my wrath. One clawed foot thrust forward, and his eyes rolled just so that he could look down his beak at me.

"Now see here, you damned flying rodent. I am not boring. I am a very well-travelled and very experienced fellow. I served three years in the infantry and saw action in the desert I tell you!" I banged my fist on the desk making a very satisfying thudding sound. The jagged scar on the back of my fisted hand itched furiously as I pounded the wooden surface. Courtesy of a hit from a strafing fighter plane.

Msieur The Crow shuffled his feet in a rapid back and forth movement and then spread his wings wide in a conciliatory gesture and said "Well forgive me for the insinuation. I meant only to get your blood flowing a bit. No insult meant." He took a hop forward and then flew down to my desk. Within easy reach of my arm.

"Look, take a seat again, I mean you no harm. Or perhaps I do!" And with that the crow flew directly at my face, claws outstretched, scratching at my eyes, and that beak, transformed to a horrid hooked and serrated weapon. I scrabbled backwards in abject terror, tipping over my chair and then disappearing under an onslaught of furiously flapping feathers.

And just like that I awoke. My body utterly drenched in sweat. A nightmare!

Heart pounding, I looked about the room, dimly lit by the reflection of the streetlamp down below the open window. And outside that window. A shape. Familiar. A crow?