When I was little and scared, or before going to sleep in my blankets I would daydream that a tribe of friendly teddy-bears would adopt me. It’s the first thing I can remember fantasizing and even now I sometimes go back to it, like a nostalgic adult taking a tour of babyland. I don’t understand everything I see there. I think in my original mind it wasn’t bears specifically, just big friendly animals which would make sense because I wasn’t very attached to any particular bear until I was about eight though I had a wide variety of amiable stuffed animals long before that. I think I figured there must be some special place my stuffed animal’s knew about, wherever they came from, wherever it was they went when I was at school and they pretended to eat the play food my sister and I thoughtfully left for them. I had an interesting sort of logic; I knew perfectly well they couldn’t live off play-dough and pictures of eggs and tiny empty boxes of fancy looking crackers, so they must get food elsewhere. My parents probably didn’t feed them, and they probably didn’t eat the sort of food we ate anyways so they must go elsewhere to get it. I sort of figured maybe if I was very nice to them they would bring me with them sometime. I miss having a cat.

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