It is empty.
"Who's been eating my porridge?!!" he squeaks.
Papa Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair.
He looks into his big bowl, and it is also empty.
"Who's been eating my Porridge?!!" he roars.
Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, "For Christ's sake, how many times do I have to go through this with you idiots?
It was Momma Bear who got up first, it was Momma Bear who woke everyone in the house, it was Momma Bear who made the coffee, it was Momma Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away.
It was Momma Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper, it was Momma Bear who set the damn table, it was Momma Bear who put the friggin cat out, cleaned the litter box, and filled the cat's water and food dish, and, now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear-butts downstairs, and grace Momma Bear's kitchen with your grumpy presence, listen good, because I'm only going to say this one more time:
I HAVEN'T MADE THE DAMN PORRIDGE YET!!"