It starts the way these things always do — a sound that doesn’t belong to plumbing, weather, or the polite imagination. A thud. A drag. The low-frequency reminder that something large has opinions about where it sleeps.
Then the realization lands: a 550-pound black bear has moved into the crawl space. Not visiting. Not lost. Fully installed.
Bear under the house. First hundred words. We’re right where we need to be.
The bear naps beneath the floorboards like a living beanbag chair. It shifts its weight at night. It breathes. Heavily. The homeowner learns new acoustics. Hardwood transmits more than footsteps, it turns out.
Call the Experts (They’ll Call It “Coexistence”)
The homeowner did what you’re supposed to do. He called the California Department of Fish and Wildlife — the people whose literal job description includes “wildlife” and presumably excludes “ignoring half-ton animals under kitchens.”
The response arrived pre-laminated. The bear wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t threatening anyone directly. It was simply there. And because it was there calmly, removal was not on the menu.
This is where modern governance leans back in its chair, folds its hands, and explains that everyone just needs to breathe. Slowly. Together. Preferably above the bear.
Policy, meet plywood. Policy wins.
The Bear Is Protected. The Homeowner Is… Flexible?
Wildlife protections exist for good reasons. Nobody reasonable wants bears harmed because humans keep building houses where bears already live. That part makes sense. The trouble comes when theory crawls under a house and starts snoring.
Insurance adjusters do not enjoy sentences that begin with, “So there’s a bear under the house.”
Neither do realtors. Or guests. Or delivery drivers. Or anyone with ankles.
The homeowner isn’t asking to mount the bear on the wall. He’s asking for it to be relocated somewhere that doesn’t involve his furnace. A radical position. Apparently.
When Common Sense Becomes a Special Request
This is where the story stops being about wildlife and starts being about process. Forms. Thresholds. The slow, careful language of agencies that do not want to set precedents involving animals who look great on posters.
Because if you remove this bear, you might have to remove the next bear. And then where does it end? Bears with expectations. Bears with demands. Bears asking about property taxes.
The homeowner, now fully aware that coexistence mostly means you adapt, threatened legal action. Not dramatically. Just enough to be noticed. The legal system — like the bear — stirred.
Leadership, Lightly Touched
This isn’t about partisan lines or cable-news food fights. It’s about leadership being willing to say, “Yes, this is absurd, and we’ll fix it.”
California’s governor, Gavin Newsom, appears in headlines constantly — big ideas, bigger ambitions, sharp elbows. That’s fine. Free country. Say what you want. Swing where you want.
But stories like this are the small stuff that adds up. The granular, unglamorous moments where residents ask whether anyone is actually steering the ship or if it’s all autopilot and vibes.
No speech required. No press conference. Just a quiet nudge that says: a man should not have to negotiate tenancy with a bear.
California, Distilled
This is California in miniature. Climate pressure pushes wildlife outward. Housing pushes humans inward. Eventually, they meet beneath a house, staring at each other through plywood and policy language.
The bear is protected.
The homeowner is patient — until he isn’t.
The state is consistent — which is not the same thing as helpful.
Somewhere beneath the floorboards, the bear stretches, rearranges itself, and settles back in. It has learned something important: nobody’s in a hurry.
Nothing Personal. Just Structural.
This isn’t anti-bear. It’s not even anti-regulation. It’s the quiet frustration of watching common sense get routed through six departments and come back stamped denied.
At some point, coexistence stops being noble and starts being inconvenient in very specific, very physical ways. Like when your house makes breathing noises that aren’t yours.
The homeowner waits. The lawyers circle. The bear naps.
And California keeps doing what it does best — turning a straightforward problem into a philosophical exercise with claws…