The Polar Bear

I was enjoying a few glasses of South African Pinotage by a warm log fire when I heard a disturbance in my hallway. I went to investigate and to my horror discovered that a polar bear had broken into my house. Recovering from the initial shock I tried to escape back into the front room. Maybe it’s psychological but when faced with threat why do we retreat to a place we know? I should have legged it out through the back door but it was too late and I retreated as the huge creature followed me into the room. It is a little known fact but polar bears are left handed or, strictly speaking, left pawed. I backed up but it started throwing left jabs sending me further across the room towards the fire. I tried to counter with right hand leads but it was clearly more skilful than I had anticipated. At ten feet tall and 1,400 pounds the bear clearly had a height and weight advantage. I bobbed and weaved, hoping to confuse it but the jabs kept coming. I took one full on the nose and it momentarily stunned me. I tried another short right below the bear’s rib cage hoping to wind it but my blow seemed to be absorbed all too easily. Another jab caught me on the top of the head scrambling my senses. To give me time to regain my composure I did that thing that heavyweights do. I dropped my hands and shook my head rapidly from side to side to indicate that I wasn’t hurt. I even beckoned the beast forward in a show of bravado. Big mistake. I thought it might dispirit him but he kept coming. He tried to surprise me with a right hook. I ducked and in the bending motion my trousers must have gotten too close to the flame of the fire. I yelped, feeling the first rush of heat on my backside as the flames licked over my clothing.

I woke with a start. A burning hot ember had been discharged from the fire and had set light to my trousers where I lay on the polar bear skin rug. I jumped up as I felt the flames burn through the material. I kicked the glowing ember away with my foot and rolled on the rug to douse the flames knocking over the remaining red in the wine bottle. It poured over the rug staining it from its pure white to a crimson blot. In my eagerness to douse my burning pants I hadn’t noticed that the burning ember I had booted away had come to land by the main window and had now set light to both curtains. The blaze shot up the material, caught the wooden pelmet and brought the lot crashing down onto the sofa. It didn’t take long to ignite, first the cushions and then the actual sofa. There was nothing I could do to contain it. I grabbed my mobile and frantically punched in 999.
Most of the inside of the house got caught by the blaze but the quick action of the fire brigade managed to save the property and kept the damage to the neighbouring ones under control. A fireman emerged from the smouldering shell dragging the remnants of the polar bear skin rug. He was showing it to his colleagues and they were staring at me with a mix of awe and admiration on their faces.
‘You musta put up a hell of a fight with this critter mate. You took it out single handed. The thing is covered in blood’.
It may have been shock from the trauma of the fire that made me say nothing but I found myself accepting the praise and wonderment of the other firemen at my heroic battle with the polar bear.

Unfortunately, my moment of elation was short lived. I was arrested and charged with keeping an endangered animal in entirely unsuitable conditions. The magistrate berated me, banging on about how polar bears should be allowed to wander free and not be enslaved. She even mentioned global warming as if my house fire had in some way contributed to the earth's woes. My desire to defend myself by revealing that it was simply a bear skin rug was flattened as the dilemma of my position became apparent. If the magistrate was such an animal activist it would only further irritate her to imply that I was using an animal as a carpet. I stayed silent and accepted my fate.  I escaped with a fine. I look back on it now and wonder if it wasn’t all a dream.