AN INTRUDER

Inspector Squirrel considered the evidence; the missing porridge, the broken chair.

“Are you sure nothing else has been taken?” he asked, his notebook at the ready.

Father Bear scratched his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Mother Bear shook her head in agreement.

“No, just the porridge. I know it’s only oats, and they’re cheap, but it’s the emotional value.” She began to sob.

Father Bear took the Inspector aside.

“The lad’s upset about his chair too, but to be honest, Sergeant – sorry, Inspector – it’s from Ikea – it could have gone any time.”

Suddenly something caught Inspector Squirrel’s notice. He produced a magnifying glass from his pocket. He picked up a long strand of golden hair from the empty porridge bowl, and held it up to the light from the window.

“You are, are you not,” asked the Inspector, “a family of brown bears?”

“It is plain from our fur that we are,” said Mother Bear.

‘Then how do you explain this blonde hair?”

The inspector popped the hair into a plastic bag to take to the police lab.

“I’ll go back to the station, and write my notes up. If you can think of anyone who may have a grudge against you or if you remember anything …”

“I know. We’ll call you.”

Just as the Inspector had replaced his coat and finished his goodbyes, there was a creak on the stairs.  Looking up, the Inspector saw a girl with yellow hair down to her waist descending the staircase.

“Who is this?”

“This is Goldilocks, our nanny – she’s just going to take Baby Bear to nursery school.”

“How lovely – take his mind off things. Anyway, as I said, I’ll be in touch,” said the Inspector, and was gone.