Stanku trade: Owl baby food
(vore, digestion, regurgitation, talking animals)
 
“Hold still dammit, you are going down either way.” hissed the owl, the sharp talons of one foot dug into the dark and light grey striped house cat while balancing on the other, wings extended to not be toppled over by his struggling prey.
“Get off me, you savage beast!” hissed the cat in return.
“Oh is the poor pampered pet unwilling to die? Usually I would go for a bird or a rat, but my little ones have gotten greedy.” he got a painful claw swipe across his face and sighed, digging his talons deeper into his prey’s flesh in retaliation.
“This is exactly why. But playtime’s over, get in my belly, pet.” he spat the last word like the insult he thought domestication was and then lowered his beaten up head down towards the cat’s. He loved hearing his meal’s panicked cry getting muffled as the familiar taste of well cared for feline bathed his palette. Most of her body would end up regurgitated into his offspring’s insatiable gullets once sufficiently liquefied, but he still enjoyed his meal as best he could. His advancing beak pressed over the cat’s shoulders and once he had both the clean and the bloody foot on solid ground and lifted his head to devour the wildly squirming legs extending from his beak, his day got a whole lot better. The cat’s screams were just incoherent now as the wiggling thing still tried to get out or at least make him regret it. Too bad he had been praying on her kind for years now. Usually on the young cats but when he had seen the chance to feed himself and all six of his hatchlings in one go, he took it. His crop bulged out, his feathers standing off from his neck as he skillfully flung his prey around, making it impossible for her sharp ish claws to connect with his body. As he swallowed his huge meal he realised how shallow, if painful, the cuts he received were. A feral cat of that size, or a juvenile lynx even would have properly injured him. Now all the cat managed to do in exchange for letting him consume her whole body was to inconvenience him.
 
The cat felt that disgusting slick grease all over herself. Saliva coated her lovely fur and the heat she was descending into just kept getting worse. She dreaded the fast advance of moist warmth down her body, the sensation taunting her with the progress of her demise. But her mind was taken off of the indignity when a fleshy ring opened in front of her face, scraping the slick drool off her face and allowing her to very reluctantly pass into the bird’s stomach.
It was a true hell pit.
The fumes alone were burning her eyes the second she tried to see anything and closing them was not making it much better. Much softer, wetter flesh kept hugging her body as she spilled into the elastic chamber. She could feel the sour digestive juices being squirted right onto her body, sullying and -far worse- melting her. Things were not any better for her lungs. Her panic forced her to breathe but there was nothing to be done. It was pain or death, or so her instincts told her, refusing to accept that she was going to become bird shit with or without prolonged suffering.
 
As the bushy tail slipped off the back of his tongue, the owl closed his beak with a self satisfied clack and just enjoyed the sensation of his belly accepting its newest, habitually temporary, inhabitant. Once the squirming bulge settled in comfortably, for him at least, he took a moment to taunt his lunch.
“Good kitty. You will allow me to relax quite a lot instead of having to hunt down every last rodent for a mile around. Just make sure your collar won’t give me indigestion.”
“Fuck you, bird!” came a muffled hiss, followed by jerky coughing. “Let me out of here!”
“Feisty. Well you are going to be released soon. But you will be hardly recognisable by then. You will fit right in with the other prey I have retched up from the edge of my nest though.”
 
With his speech concluded the owl unfurled his wings once more and took off. Flying was a whole lot harder with a third of his weight in feline stuck in his middle and still fighting his digestive tract. However his nest was only a short ways off.
“Honey, I’m home.” he greeted his mate who turned her head and then got off the nest and ready to take off for her own hunt.
“That was fast.” she commented, before noticing the kicking bulge in his middle and then his small injury.
“Weasel?”
“House cat.”
“I told you not to hunt in the gardens. The owners of those pets might attack you if they see you preying on their things.”
“Nono, this one strayed into the forest, no one saw me.”
“Oh, then it is all good. So I guess the kiddos will be stuffed when I come back?”
“Or unstuffed again, if you take long. Just eat some extra just in case. But the night is still young and the moon is lovely. Good luck.”
They exchanged a little caress before dad owl took over parenting while his mate went out to fill her own stomach.
 
If the disgusting liquids she was being soaked in had not forced her to throw up mid flight, that cheesy scene of married bird life would have. The cat was shuddering in the pain of starting digestion as she heard a chorus of muffled screams through the stomach walls of her predator.
“Food? Food! Food!!” chirped a small flock of owlettes.
“Yes yes, you will get your food soon. Daddy just has to break it down first so you can handle it.”
“But I want food now!” insisted one of the little birds. The cat shuddered knowing in the back of her mind that something as weak and pathetic as a chick was going to have part of her semi digested body retched up into its tiny gullet to finish the job. It was an insult to all feline kind, it was unjust and it was absolutely going to happen.
 
The cat was left to breathing burning fumes and soak in flesh melting liquids while the owl was busy parenting, digesting her on the side to make her more suitable food to his offspring and to make a good portion of her fit through the tiny opening at the bottom of his vicious stomach. The coughing and pain induced cries slowed gradually as digestion progressed and the cat’s skin started to blister. Fur came up in patches when she was getting massaged and churned about while her previously keen eyes were reduced to useless white marbles after her eyelids were among the first bits to liquefy properly.
 
Eventually though the owlettes wore down their father’s patience and he relented. Maybe this was a teachable moment?
“Fine, I will retch her up and you can try to eat her.”
There was a lot of enthusiasm for the plan and the adult owl turned his eyes to the sky, begging for patience before starting to retch up his meal. His stomach convulsed, struggling to lift up the heavy feline once more. It had taken so much effort to get her down and now he was struggling to bring her back up. Coincidentally, her struggles were negligible by now and the bulge under his feathers shifted and morphed. Soon his crop bloated up once more and he opened his beak. His chicks followed that example, clearly thinking they could swallow a whole cat. The feline’s rear appeared in his beak first. A fair amount of fur was gone and as her tail started to swing around outside his maw it was peppering the nest and the chicks with vomit. Before the cat’s clawed legs got free enough to land a lucky hit on his owlettes, the adult clamped his beak back down. Its sharp edge slid through the badly acid burnt skin as if it was mere foam and the cat, now with the hooker tip of his upper beak scraping on her spine, was not even reacting to it. He knew this from other meals. His prey was either welcoming death or so weakened that it made no difference if she wasn’t. Good.
“Foood!” screeched the owlettes, more attracted than dissuaded by the reek of their parent’s regurgitated prey. They were used to it. It was what kept their stomachs full for most of the time. They scrambled to be close to the three quarters dead feline and started prodding their open beaks at it. Hower solid food was not something they were ready for yet and eventually they gave up, switching to demands to melt it faster.
With a muffled sigh, the father owl swallowed the cat back down again, having paid in heartburn for a bit more quiet. The feline slipped down so easily it was almost funny. Partially because his stomach juices were slick, partially because his prey’s skin was just sloughing off her almost corpse now. One bit of tail skin got stuck on his beak and fell off when he closed it. As he felt the lump of meat going back home to his stomach, he saw one of his chicks wolfing down the scrap under the jealous chirps of its siblings.
 
Back inside the hellish cauldron of his stomach the cat soon perished. Her mutilated body grew still, reduced to a lovely slab of nutrients which simply needed to be harvested by the big avian’s guts. The acids heated up by the bird’s fast paced metabolism worked quickly and soon ate their way into the feline’s skull through her former eyes sockets, her ears, her maw. Meanwhile the bare flesh exposed all over her body was growing mushier by the minute. A pool of rich chyme started to form around the cat that provided the flesh for it as the stomach walls kept secreting more acids into the increasingly liquid mess. However, the bird’s stomach remained sealed off. After all, he had a lot of needy beaks to feed. As his chicks pressed their warm little bodies against the belly that was preparing their dinner, the cat broke down more and more. Soon the first bones were exposed, the tough sinews growing loose or breaking off as the muscles holding them were liquefied.
Periodically the owl checked if the contents of his stomach were liquid enough to feed his offspring with them, by clenching and relaxing his guts. When he felt lose bones floating around in a thick stew and realised that the firm areas that could be a skull, hips or shoulders, were bundled up so much that his prey’s spine must have collapsed, he realised it was time.
 
The owl felt his crop fill up with a mess of liquefied meat, soft little scraps and some tiny bones. Some of the debris will make it to his hungry little ones though he tried to keep as many of the indigestibles back as possible. He leaned over the hungry, open beaks when he had enough chyme in his crop and started regurgitating it right into those presented gullets.
 
The first chick was the same that had already gotten some of the cat’s skin before but luckily for it, their parents were feeding them sorted by strength, since that meant likelihood of survival. Soon a warm slick torrent of its father’s vomit was spilling down from his beak and sloshing down its own. It was a bit tougher, more viscous and definitely tasted different from the rodent and song bird stew they were used to. But it was good. The exceedingly protein rich feline brand of regurgitate was well received and greedily swallowed down. Here and there a loose claw or a small bone went down alongside the liquid food, but in the end all of it would either pass as thick goop or be thrown back up once enough indigestible matter has collected in its stomach. The owlettes could hardly keep their heads upright, were unable to flight and could not see very well yet, but their digestive capabilities were already commendable.
 
With a tired sigh the owl leaned back and let the mostly liquefied cat drop back into his stomach. Large bones, loads of fur and some of the harder to digest bits were still there along with the chyme his peristalsis was scraping down from his throat were going to be his actual meal. To be fair, that was still a good filling, but his offspring were getting bigger and hungrier by the day.
Unlike the small rodents he usually fed on, the cat was not going to simply disintegrate into a smooth liquid. There was some serious digestive work involved to dissolve the bigger muscles, large guts and to melt her skull into a more manageable shape. Over several hours though, his insides prevailed and the cat increasingly resembled a potato shaped lump of soaked bleached fur and some bones, readying to be expelled. Over the course of the next day his stomach wrung all the useful fleshy bits from that fur sponge and pumped it into his winding intestines, where the nutrients were absorbed and the remnants reduced to a sticky off white sludge. When night fell once more and the owl grew active again, he felt a familiar firmness in the pit of his stomach. He knew what it was. The owl leaned over the edge of his nest and retched. His feathers ruffled and his crop bulged out as the heavy, wet lump moved upwards and was finally expelled from his beak. He had to open up uncomfortably wide to let all the fur back out. Some dulled claws and slimy, acid softened bones were grinding along the inside of his maw as well as something hard and seemingly unphased by a whole day in his stomach. As the heavy, bile soaked slump fell down towards the ground, he saw the glimpse of a yellow plastic collar and a coppery tag, embedded in wet refuse before it landed among the owl family’s other droppings with a wet plap.
“Good kitty. Let’s see what is on the menu today.” he chuckled and unfurled his wings.