Dear Wigleaf:

A bear entered our home and headed straight into the kitchen, where he began to eat the food in the pantry. "Stop him," my wife said, "before he eats us out of house and home." I went into the kitchen to reason with the bear only to find out that the bear was our son, Jess. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "I'm hungry," he said. "I came home." There were crushed boxes of cereal on the floor and crushed cans. Jess had grown into a large black bear, and now he had a full body of thick dark fur. He's a good-looking bear, I thought. "I'm moving back in," he said. I wasn't sure how it would work to have him live at home now that he was a bear. In front of me, he ate three packages of cookies and two bags of chocolate chips (he always had a sweet tooth); six tins of anchovies; three boxes of penne; a large bag of brown basmati rice; and two boxes of Raisin Bran. "That's a lot of fiber," I said. Then his mother came into the kitchen. "Jess!" she burst out. "You were such a sweet boy. How could you become a bear?" I broke in. "He's a sweet bear, honey, really." She came close to him, touched the fur on his arm. "He gets his fur from you," she said. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He ate her too.

Jeff