Sorry for third-person but this popped into my head.
For the past three days, when Fred Bear emerges from his house to run errands for the wife or head down to the the local fishing pool to play hookey on life's chores, he's been accosted by a little blonde girl with bowlsful of porridge. At first the shock of hot sticky gruel running down his fur coat stunned him to silence. Then after a subsequent attack, and then another, he grew nervous at every creak or groan his house would make or jump at the sound of a child's laughter (when before it used to make him smile in a fatherly way). His wife tells him he's silly, it's only a little girl after all, and it's not like she's spraying him with bullets. But he can't help it. The memory of those little blonde ringlettes, the blue-blue eyes, the rosy cheeks, the flowered dress and kneesocks, the delerious laughter .. well it keeps him up at nights. He thinks, 'maybe next time I'll just eat her.'