The two-year-old howled, the truck went flying, the coffee went spilling, the mom did some swearing as she went for yet another towel. The Cinder turned his attention from Terraria (the video game obsession of the moment) and fixed a solemn gaze on me.

“You were asking for it, you know,” he said. “I mean, you did nickname him Bear. Bear? That’s what he is. A very, very good bear.”

The Bear bared his fangs, growled, and rushed at Cinder, headbutting him in the belly.

“You’re right,” I said. “We should have nicknamed him Fluffy.”

“Well, it could have been worse,” Cinder groaned, removing Ender’s head from his gut. “You could have called him Cthulhu.”