After her husband’s death, the woman felt that her life was over. She had no one left to live for, no one to wake up for in the morning. She lived quietly and alone in a small house on the edge of the village.

One morning, as she stepped out onto the porch, she noticed something dark moving by the door. When she came closer, she saw a small bear cub — dirty, skinny, with an injured paw. It whimpered softly, trembling from cold and fear.

The woman couldn’t just walk past. She lifted the tiny creature into her arms, held it close, and whispered:
— Don’t be afraid, everything will be all right now. The grandmother nursed it back to health, fed it from a bowl, wrapped it in a blanket, and talked to it as if it were human.

The years passed. The little cub grew into a large brown bear. The little bear lived in the house, slept on an old rug by the fireplace, ate porridge and honey, listened to his mistress, and never did anything wrong.

The woman took him almost everywhere — she couldn’t leave him alone at home because he got bored, but outside he was happy. The villagers had long since grown used to the strange pair. One morning, the woman decided to go to the supermarket with her little bear to buy some food.

When they entered, the customers and employees ran to the corners in fear, and the security guards didn’t dare approach. Calmly, the grandmother took a shopping cart and walked along the aisles as if nothing had happened, while the little bear carefully walked beside her, not knocking over a single can. To everyone else, the scene looked like something out of a movie, but for the woman it was just an ordinary day — she was simply shopping with her pet.

One of the customers, unable to take it anymore, called the police. A few minutes later, an officer entered the store. He approached cautiously and said:
— Ma’am, you’re disturbing public order.

It’s not allowed to bring wild animals into the store. — My little bear is a pet, — she replied calmly. — He behaves better than many customers and doesn’t knock down the cookie shelves.

— I understand, ma’am, but rules are rules. Animals aren’t allowed here. — But he’s not an animal, — she said.

— He’s like a son to me. Just a bit furrier. The officer stood across from her, trying to speak calmly but firmly.