Friends! Countryfolk! Bears of all shapes and sizes! What a long, lengthy, distant time it has been since last I appeared in these your inboxes. I apologize for that! I could blame a lot of things (my wedding, getting covid, starting a new job, going on my honeymoon) but lately I think the most driving force behind my lack of newslettering or doing anything creative of any kind has been the unexpected death of my beloved cat, Chester. This newsletter is nominally about bears, and while my sweet, soft, special boy was not a bear (or even a Maine Coon, which is essentially the bear of the feline world), he was mine, and he is dead, and that is hard, so here we are. The death of an animal you keep in your home is so strange and private. Friends send you flowers and cards and small special treats that say 'I love you' in whatever small way, but the sorrow and silence following the death of the animal is far more pervasive than any well-meaning friend on the outside can probably understand. I know I am not the first person to lose a beloved animal, and I know my feelings are not as stupid or as small as they sometimes feel to me, but hear me on this: I have been pretty sad. I imagine part of the stark, striking absence of my cat is related to the past three years of my life, spent primarily in the same collection of rooms as him, all the time. Every minute of every day, I knew where he was, and heard him meowing or purring or licking, and now I hear nothing. I'm still here in this space, near some of the things and spaces and spots he loved the most, or at the very least, tolerated to some degree of satisfaction, but he is not here. I feel guilty, and sad, and, yes, despite my best efforts, small. We all had our own stressors and difficulties and coping mechanisms that we turned to during the weirdest, darkest points of our ongoing international medical crisis, but getting to really know and love my already deeply loved old man cat was somehow the most helpful and comforting thing I could do, and despite the headlines that tell us that we're either totally okay or somehow just as bad as we were a year ago, his absence from my home and my lap makes me feel like I hit fast forward on something by mistake and can't go back to the beginning no matter how hard I try. I don't have a conclusion to this meandering wander of words -- I will still be sad even after I finish writing this -- but please just know that if I somehow fail to write another issue of this newsletter, or respond to your text, or do that thing I said I was going to do with you and just kind of...didn't, it's because early on a sunny May morning, I carried the dying body of my beloved soft boy to a cozy pile of towels and later found him dead in that same pile of towels, and the gap of time between those two specific moments will never not feel like too long and not long enough at the same time. I miss you, Chester, and I love you. I'm getting through it, and I will never get through it. 

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Bears On the Moon? Bears On the Moon.
Not So Sure About This Blame Game
Blame Again, Deeply Misplaced
Bears Move Back In, Frankly
Humans And Bears CAN Live in Harmony
Harmony Is Not Impossible
Cohabitation Does Not Mean Destruction 
If The Song Isn't Catchy Enough, This Effort Feels Misplaced
Talking to Bears is NOT Impossible!
Bears Are Sneaky AND Well Fed
Charismatic Megafauna Somehow Skilled
This Adorable Story Prompts Me To Suggest You Look Up The Real Story Of Charles Entertainment Cheese
Look Out, Reality Stars -- This Bear Is Coming For Your Crown
Hot Take: Goldilocks is a Trollope
Had No Idea the Filming of 'Mamma Mia 3' Was So Wild
Bear Co-Habitation Apparently Still Up For Grabs
We Should Be Grateful, Truly 

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Chester A Arthur Andersen | mollis specialis puer, a distinguished, handsome brown, black and white tabby cat of undetermined age and undetermined heritage. After a period of habitation with an elderly woman in New York City (living under the name Tiger), this fine feline fellow moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he shared a house with Nick Andersen and his boyfriend, Luke Massa. Despite his advanced age and ongoing kidney problems, Chester proudly took up a role as Work From Home Supervisor for both Luke and Nick during the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic, sitting on keyboards, yelling in Zoom meetings and jumping in laps as needed. He loved sitting in laps, licking windows and gentle chin scritches more than anything in this world. 

food: While Chester was not a particularly food-focused gentleman, he did enjoy wet food on the off and off, and he was very, very thirsty all of the time. He loved to lick surfaces, particularly windows, and enjoyed eating plastic bags and wraps before throwing them up rather quickly. 

habitat: As mentioned above, Chester lived right on the Cambridge / Somerville line for the final five years of his long and distinguished life. While living there, he enjoyed sunny spots, warm couches and, above all else, any lap he could snuggle up in. His remains remain in a place of honor in the home he lived and died in. 

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I Picked A Favorite Summer Read, And You Can Still Read It
Hotel Bars Are THE Spot
A Lovely Memorial For A Life That Was Anything But Quiet
The 1993 'Super Mario Bros' Movie Doesn't Suck, I Swear