I died while killing Marge

Where to begin? Four years ago I was a 10-year-old boy romping with my sisters in the playroom of our home in Allentown. The year was 1868. A tan cat ran past the doorway and I ran out of the room into the hall to follow it. Suddenly I found myself in the Arctic in the form of a polar bear cub. Trapped thousands of miles away from Allentown and my family, I lived out my life as a polar bear until I was killed by a poacher 11 months ago. I now reside in the spirit world.

And now I am home again, in a way, but no less trapped than when I was while living in the Arctic circle. The room that I played in as a boy still exists in the attic of this home. My sisters still play in that room in 1868, under the impression that I have been gone for mere moments. The very cat that led me to my life of torment still roams these quarters -- my sisters are playing with it as we speak. There, my own corpse lies yonder on the floor, a lifeless hide serving as a rug, its eyeballs torn from its head, ironically, by the very cat that led me astray....

Hmmmm. I reckon I oughter say somethin. I don't reckon it's ironic per se that there cat tore out yer eyeballs. Hmmmm. I reckon it's a coincidence. Hmmm.

Excuse me, Karl, but I certainly do believe it is ironic. Listen here. The very same cat that I followed 140 years ago, which led me into the future and into my exile to the Arctic and to my life as an unwilling polar bear, has plucked the eyes out of my corpse, which serves as a rug in Team Marge Headquarters. A rug, I might add, that the cat also vomited on, if it were possible to add any further insult to my injury.

Hmmmm. You spun around on me there. Hmmm. Well, I still reckon it's a coincidence. ... Fer instance, let's say you was a blind boy back in them olden times and one a them doctors fixed it that you could see again cause he found some kinda medicine in that cat's throwup. Hmmmmm. Then you come a back here as a dead polar bear and whatnot and find out that there cat tore out yer eyes, that'd be ironic. I reckon, tho, some people might call it false irony, account of them eyeballs not really bein eyeballs but marbles is all. Hmmmm. I believe I'd call that irony. Right now, tho, I call it coincidence. Hmmmm.

Call it what you wish, Karl. But while my family lives in this house in the past, I am trapped here in the present. And because spirits cannot exist in the same time in which they lived, I am unable to enter the room to reunite with my family.

How come you's a polar bear anyway? I remember you was a boy up there in that room.

Ah! The ultimate irony -- don't interrupt! -- because in my timeline I grew up to be a man and eventually died, my spirit already exists in this time. Because my body could not exist in the same time with my unearthly spirit, I was transformed into a polar bear. When I died, I died as a polar bear and now I appear as a cub -- the form I took when I was first transported to your time.

Hmmmm. How come you ended up a polar bear and not some other kind a animal like one a them porkypines anyways?

I wish I knew ....

Hmmmm. Arite then. ... How you end up dyin back in y'own time anways.

I died while killing Marge. ...