Where did the owl go

Last night in the dark, our son sleeping in between us, my wife and I talked aimlessly until I stumbled upon a childhood memory I had relayed to her before, back when we still have the Volkswagen, the red kotseng kuba parked on our garage. There was this night when an owl happened to live in our backyard for two nights--or maybe one. The owl smelled bad, its big eyes golden in the dark. I'm not sure if it had croaked back then. I was interested with the owl simply because it was my first time to look at it closely, and to have it in our backyard was such a distinct feature of any childhood spent in the tropics. Maybe this was just an afterthought, but something tells me that the owl was tired that night, that it couldn't flutter its wings properly, and that it needed sufficient rest. My wife said that maybe, just maybe it was one of those owls at Hogwarts sending me an invitation. I mused that maybe my father was behind all this, no? He hid the invitation somewhere.