Bear With Me

“You hairy great behemoth” I shout at the bear as it tears through the contents of my wardrobe like a threshing machine. “You look ridiculous” I scold as it tries on the pink cowboy hat I wore to Jenny’s hen party. Impervious to my barbs the bear barges past me and slumps into the armchair it has claimed as its own. Its manners are shocking. Soon it will be jabbing at the remote searching for the westerns and home improvement shows which it happily consumes for hours. The latter is ironic considering the destruction the beast has wrought on my home.

Returning from holiday two days ago I discovered that, having gained entrance by tearing my front door from its hinges, the creature was helping itself to dinner from my kitchen. Surprisingly it did prove to be a superb cook, however, when I remarked that the salmon en croute was a little dry, the animal completely overreacted. It swept my plate from the table and rained down blows on my oven, leaving behind nothing but a useless mangled heap of metal.

I feel a finger tapping against my shoulder “You called for pest control?”

I almost fall to the man’s feet in gratitude. “Yes” I say “this bear won’t leave – GET OFF MY PROPERTY” I yell at the bear which shrugs back at me.

The man sucks at his teeth “That’s a rare species of bear, endangered in fact. Sorry but I’m just not allowed to move it. It’s like with bats, you have to learn to live with them”

“It’s not quite like bats though is it? Seeing as bats aren’t eight foot tall and capable of ripping my arms from their sockets”

“Well they do both carry rabies; I’d get my shots if I were you”