My Fractured Reality, & What it has in common with the Multiverse...What??!

Ah, the blunders we make. Well, make that the blunders I make. I was talking to a friend on the phone, which is always Eddie's cue (Eddie's my cockatiel roommate) to climb my arm and get his 2 cents in. Eddie's idea of communicating via the phone is to yell as loudly as he can into the telephone, and consequently into my ear. He alternates these screams with a few different imitations of wild bird calls, including some I think he just makes up. So, while this is happening, someone knocks on the door, and as I open it to what appears to be a well dressed, too clean-cut, and far too good looking (think The Omen) young man, the tea pot I had on the stove (I put it on for tea, of course) begins to whistle. While I am rescuing the tea pot, still listening to my sister telling me her secrets (which I will spill to my Mother later; we are all blabbermouths in my family) with Eddie still doing his best to drown out our conversation altogether, this angelic young man (although the outward appearance is quite different, think of the rotten-to-the-core politician in Stephen King's novel, The Dead Zone) begins talking about his political campaign of which a major component (part) will be to protect our right to bear arms, and to make sure it is not restricted in any way by the evil government forces.
Now, if I hadn't been distracted at the time with the phone and Eddie's yelling, I might have been able to nip a catastrophe-about-to-happen in the bud. But, I was barely listening to the foolish young man who had stepped across my living room threshold. Albert, however, who had been sleeping under my bed in the bedroom (Albert is a sometimes roommate, who also happens to be a black bear; it's a long story), was paying attention to the stranger's discourse (conversation). Albert, who is quite intelligent, even for most humans, is very anti-Republican (technically, he's not very fond of humans in general), and very, very, VERY anti-guns, particularly if they are in the hands of humans. The look of surprise on the face of the would-be-Governor of Connecticut's face might have given the painting of The Scream a run for its money when Albert came out of the bedroom.
Well, you can imagine the result. I had to spend the next 24 hours cleaning up the mess in the living room (you really wouldn't believe some of the places I found blood-splatter). After which I had to package and remove the remains from the premises, and then dispose of them. Albert, of course, took no responsibility for the situation. He grunted something about it being all my fault for answering the door. 
Anyroad. We just got back from a little vacation up north, where we felt it might be a good idea to lay-low for a bit.
And that, in a nutshell, is the story. But if asked, I will deny everything. 
Be well. Don't answer your door if you can help it. And please, think carefully before taking in any bears looking for a place to ride out the winter (or any other time of year).