1
My name is Bianca, but of course I for one am already aware of this so I suppose it's rather a pointless way to start a journal. But now that I've started, I guess I'll continue in the same fashion: I live with my parents, David and Catherine, and my two brothers, Toby and Cass. My parents are both English teachers, as we their children (most particularly Cassio Belarius) know all too well. I, Bianca Regan, probably have it the easiest - Cass has it the worst, naturally, and Toby Valentine is somewhere in the middle. Doesn't stop them getting laid, though. Our house is, of course, called "Fair Verona". It's hell every time we get a new postman.

My brothers and I get along pretty well. Toby's an arrogant cunt, naturally, and Cass is a lazy womaniser, but we like each other.

I'm 17. I go to a school full of Lindsays and Sarahs, with the occasional Megan and maybe an unfortunate Agnes or two. I hang out with stoners and poets and pretentious literary types who think they know things but obviously don't; people who read Chuck Palahniuk and think they can change the world, who quote endlessly from blah blah blah. I do drama at the weekends, mostly Shakespeare of course - much to my parents' delight, but mostly I just like the attention and distraction and staying over at Jacob's house afterwards and getting really wasted with my head rested on his abdomen. I dress like a bohemian and have chin-length, bright orange hair, blue eyes and a tattoo of a small mouse on the small of my back, a tiny critter who's really more at the top of my right buttock than at the side of my hip. It was supposed to be a shrew, but I changed my mind.

My name is Bianca Regan O'Mahoney and there's a bear living in my garden.



2
Obviously the first problem with this is that I live in Ireland, and I thought I could say with some certainty that there are no bears in Ireland. Evidently however, there is at least one because I can see him, all content-looking, making himself at home in my little country residence. I wonder how Romeo and Juliet would have reacted if Shakespeare had thrown a bear into their Verona. I bet Mercutio would have ripped it a new one, but I would hope the beast could at least attack those simpering central prats first.
I have a large garden and in this fine September evening it's half crinkly auburns and crimped golds, with substantial patches of green and the heady smell of chlorophyll at work. The grass in our garden stretches up towards my knees, so that it tickles my calves, and there are clusters of spreading weeds and wildflowers, mushrooms and spores clinging to the decrepit swing and our large oak tree, near the abandoned chicken hutch which has been empty for years but still stands there. From where I'm standing in the tacked-on conservatory, I can quite clearly see a large brown bear sitting happily and autonomously where we used to keep the rabbits.
I'm not drunk. I'm not high. I am, however, acutely aware that this flimsy glass would in no way provide sufficient protection from a bear attack. But he's just looking at me, cheerfully, and I think I see him smiling. I think he wants me to go out to him?



3
He says his name is Louis and he likes my hair very much.



4
I thanked him for his compliments.
"Thank you, Louis," I said.
He said he wished he too had a Shakespearean name. I suggested Montano and he approved.
Montano the bear says he'd like to stay in my garden, if it's quite alright. He's ever so polite. I said it's okay by me but one of us will have to check with the parents.



5
There are kittens in our bathtub. I don't know why they're there but Montano says there's a perfectly good reason. Cass (who still lives at home, of course) says their mewing ruins the mood when he brings a girl home but I figure if he's paying her, she should be ready to handle any situation (he insists he's not, of course, but that's another story). Toby says he likes it. I don't know if he means as a background noise to his sexual deviancies, or because it means he doesn't have to bathe. I have to either shower with the kittens, or bring a bucket outside and use the well (although one time when I dipped the bucket into the well, it came out with a kitten in it too. I think it was an unrelated kitten, however).
Our parents seem to like Montano, although admittedly it's a little strained at dinner time. Montano can't keep his elbows off the table and he always chips the tableware. They said they would have called him Hortensio, and at this, the bear shot me a grateful look.