I awake to the sound of birds chirping. Golden sunlight spills into the mouth of the cave, tempting me, calling to me, begging me to come bask in its warmth. Pushing myself up with a grunt, I yawn ferociously and shake a bit to chase away the fog of sleep.

As I pad softly out of my den, I take a moment to survey my front yard. Butterflies and other insects buzz about. The greenery is dotted with the radiant blossoms of a new spring, filling the clearing with a sweet, cloying scent. A fox and a rabbit dart by. The rabbit will probably be dead soon.

The birds that awoke me are lounging about in a young willow tree. Good-for-nothing neighbors, waking me up. All I wanted was to sleep for a few more weeks, but, no, those early birds just have to get that worm. Noise pollution, they are.

I should do something about them. I mean, really, I should. Why don't I?

I lumber over to the tree. Standing up, I place my front paws on the trunk and begin bouncing up and down. The furious shaking of the willow knocks the birds from their home. They drop to the ground and lay stunned.

Pew, pew, pew, I say to myself as I stomp on the birds, making mental noises in rhythm with the genocide. They burst with soft popping noises.

Much better.

There's a rumbling in my stomach. I haven't eaten in a long time.

I continue my slow, methodical gait, making for the gently flowing stream up ahead. The crystal waters teem with abundant fishes, ripe for the munching. As I approach the stream, the fish scramble to find cover. All are gone in an instant.

All save for one, that is. This particular fish is behaving quite peculiarly. It seems unafraid. Perhaps it seeks an understanding? This is truly an unique specimen, I think.

It approaches slowly, breaking the surface of the water and staring at me with fishy eyes. A spark of intelligence gleams deep in the murky depths of its mind, a ferocious drive to learn and comprehend.

I bludgeon it to death with furious smacks of my heavy paw.

Gulping down the fish, I continue on through the forest. I'm not sated, not by a long shot. I hope to find and consume some picnickers. And possibly their food.

As I pad through the forest, I hear a distant chatter of voices. Eschewing any attempts at stealth, I follow the lilting sounds noisily through the trees, crushing branches and advanced insect civilizations under my feet.

I reach the edge of a clearing, pausing to peer out between the trees. Somehow, the revelers haven't yet noticed my approach. Taking deep breaths, I prepare myself for the performance.

Lumbering lazily into the midst of the picnickers, I rear up on my hind legs and let out a terrifyingly lethargic roar, drawing the attention of any who have somehow managed not to notice my presence.

The people around scream in terror and scatter, leaving delicious morsels of food behind. I gaze around at my prize, and a tear springs from an eye. “Rarurarur rargha roogh!” I howl, which most bears (The embarrassing evolutionary misstep of the Koala notwithstanding) would understand to mean, “It's beautiful!”

I begin to smear myself with food. Great gobs of butter, jelly, and mayonnaise coat my fur. As I feast, more and more edibles stick to my massive form, until I am completely hidden behind a second skin of goodies.

I am the food.

I am the bear.