"That's my Pop," Cedric said proudly. "The environmental crusader!"

Cyril heard those words coming from his son as he walked out with two uniformed police officers who were "escorting" Milton Midas from his office. Midas had paid Cyril's pig assistants to get rid of a few drums, pointedly not telling them what was in said barrels. Though they would be in trouble for recklessly dumping the drums without care as to what they contained, the real criminal here was Midas for manipulating them with blatant disregard for environmental regulations.

Cyril knew that Midas was rich, and he could afford some great lawyers who would do their best to get him off with a slap on the wrist. However, Cyril was also rich, and his business wasn't about to start suffering due to the CEO being in jail, so he would be able to match anyone Midas hired. That unethical scumbag wouldn't be buying his way out of trouble anytime soon.

Nevertheless, those words Cedric said to Bentley as they were leaving struck Cyril, and they stayed with him in the back of his mind as they went to the lake to do as much damage control as possible, which as it turns out was very little. Simply put, the poison in the lake could be contained but it wouldn't dissipate fully for possibly hundreds of years. Bentley's great-great-grandchildren might not even be able to enjoy the old fishing hole.

That night Cyril was sitting alone in his office. There was an easel set up against the wall adjacent to the windows, displaying a mock-up of the ad featuring the fishing hole in all it's glory. Cyril stood in front of that picture for a long time that night, thinking about the summers he spent there as a young aardvark. He thought of Bert and Cedric believing they were the only two people in the universe who knew about it. Why didn't I bring my son there? he wondered. There were so many opportunities. I could have had memories of the both of us there, together.

The environmental crusader, he remembered. Oh, how he remembered.

Cyril Sneer remembered cutting down most of the trees in the Evergreen Forest for his lumber business. How he had a quota, filled it, surpassed it, and continued logging and logging because each tree meant more profit once the initial cost of the endeavor had been covered.

Cyril remembered purchasing one hundred trucks of cement to pave over the entire forest so that he could get some peace and quiet. Granted, he had been sleep-deprived at the time because the noise of the forest was causing terrible insomnia, but it wasn't that out of character and besides, he had been ready to go through with it until the very last minute.

Not to mention the time he laid claim to a frozen lake to build his own Cyril Dome. No one would have been able to enjoy the pristine landscape had those raccoons and his son not beaten him in a hockey game.

Or what about the time he had planned to tear down half the forest to build a gigantic, smoke-belching car plant to produce thousands of polluting, gas-guzzling cars.

And the time he had leveled a section of the forest for his high-rises, only to be stopped when those raccoons founded their own newspaper and got the forest to rally against him.

Actually, there was no shortage of examples of Cyril Sneer putting profit and personal gain ahead of anything else. There were occasions when he put business ahead of his own son, the one person who had been his chain to morality even when he didn't have scruples to speak of. If the one person who meant more to him than anything else in the world took a backseat to business, what choice did the environment have?

And yet here he was, standing up for the fishing hole that future generations had been deprived of. Sending Midas to prison for crimes against the environment. Releasing a line of environmentally friendly products with a business partner only because he found that there was a lot of money in the green movement, not out of any sense of altruism or concern for Mother Earth. And when he cut ties with the Rotco Corporation? Purely for love. Because he wanted someone to love him. Not because the corporation was poisoning the planet, but because it might make Ingrid Bellamour love him again.

He reached out and touched the picture of the fishing hole, running his tobacco-stained claws down it slowly, careful not to scratch or damage the picture in any way.

"That could have been me," he said out loud. "If it were any other fishing hole and I had something to get rid of... that would have been me."

There was a knock at the door. Cyril jerked his hand back and turned his head over his shoulder. "Yeah? Who's there?"

The door opened a crack. "Just me, Pop," said Cedric. "I saw the light on in your office and wanted to see if you'd left it on or if you hadn't gone to bed yet."

"No, I'm... still up." He crossed the room to stand in front of his son, who let himself in and closed the door gently behind him. "What's wrong? Need me to sing you your lullaby?"

"No. Just worried about you. Dr. Canard said it's important for you to be getting good, restful sleep. It's bad for your health to stay up late."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"And I know you're feeling bad about the fishing hole," added Cedric, gesturing to the ad across the room. "We all are."

"Yeah." Cyril said, casing a longing look at the picture.

"Something else bothering you?"

"Cedric, tell me the truth." Cyril gave his son a mournful look. "I know that hasn't always been easy for you, and I know I haven't always been receptive to it. I promise I'm not going to fly off the handle, or write you out of my will, or take away your chocolate pudding for the rest of the millenium. Just tell me the God's-honest truth as you know it."

"Yeah?" Cedric was uncomfortable. A question with this much build-up and this many disclaimers had to be something heavy, and maybe something he didn't entirely want to deal with.

"Was I ever as bad ad Milton Midas?"

"Pop?" Cedric looked at his father, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Was I, in all my schemes, my plans against the raccoons, and my dishonest business ventures... did I ever do anything as reprehensible as what Midas did to that pond?"

"W-w-well..." Cedric stuttered, as he always did when uncomfortable, "nothing you ever did was quite as permanent as that. You did plant seedlings in place of all the trees you chopped down."

"After being threatened by a very large dog and learning that there was profit in it."

"And you did build the environmentally friendly cars."

"You're reaching."

"Pop," said Cedric, "you always taught me that making money is the most important thing, but you haven't always acted like that. Mostly when you think no one is looking."

"I raised a son to send to college so that he could take over the business and keep making money for me in my old age." He sat down. "Let's face it; I'm an irredeemably reprehensible aardvark. And I didn't even care until something bad affected me personally. Now I can't stop thinking about it. That's what makes it worst of all."

"No, Pop. Is that what you think?" Cedric led his father over to a chair in front of his desk. Normally Cyril sat at the big executive chair behind the desk, but this time he was sitting in one of two identical chairs on the other side, while Cedric sat across from him, and they were as equals. "You know that's not true. You're just upset right now. There's no profit in singing me my lullaby or making me my chocolate pudding. There's no profit in coming to most of my hockey games, even if you have to spend all night working out the shareholder's meeting schedule so there's no conflict. There's no profit in attempting to be civil to a girl you don't like just because she makes your son happy. How could you ever think that you only love me as a route to profit? You might love a lot of things that bring you money, but what if there was something wrong with me? What if I had been born with some condition, or syndrome, and I would never be capable of taking over the business. I would need someone to take care of me for the rest of my life. Would you still love me then?"

"Of course I would, Cedric," said Cyril.

Cedric smiled. "Then there's your answer, Pop. Look, you've done a lot of things that hurt people so that you could build your fortune. And you're not a very easy person to get along with. But you're not Midas and you never were, and I know that you never could be. And that's what's important. Don't think about all the Midas-like stuff you've done in the past, wondering if it makes you as bad as him. Say, 'How can I be the best Cyril Sneer I can be? How can I make the most money without hurting people?' And you'll find out what that is because if you step too far, the Evergreen Standard will be right there to keep you in line."

Cyril Sneer shook his head, but he had the faintest hint of a smile. "Those meddling raccoons are actually good for something, aren't they?"

"So what are you going to do about it, Pop?"

Cyril Sneer chewed the end of his cigar as he thought about that. "What am I going to do, eh? Well..." He slapped his thighs and stood up. "First I'm going to get a good night's sleep. We all need one after a day like this one. And tomorrow I'm going to meet with Mr. Knox to finalize all the details for our environmentally friendly projects. And after that..."

"Yeah?" Cedric leaned in, curiously.

"You know, if those pigs are so desperate for a raise that they're willing to moonlight for someone they don't even know, they're probably overdue for a pay increase. Not right away- I don't want to reward bad behaviour... but maybe if they keep up the status quo for the next quarter, I'll really think about it and not just say I will to keep them working harder."

Cedric stood up and gave his father a hug. Cyril, so unused to physical displays of affection, took a moment before he returned the hug. "Need me to tuck you in, son?"

"If you want to," said Cedric.

"Why don't you go on to bed? I'll be there in a minute."

There is an old parable about the sower and his seeds: As he sowed, some fell along the path, and was trodden under foot, and the birds of the air devoured it. And some fell on the rock; and as it grew up, it withered away, because it had no moisture. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns grew with it and choked it. And some fell into good soil and grew, and yielded a hundredfold. Sometimes what we hear falls on the path, and we immediately forget and move on as the seed is taken away. Sometimes it falls on the rock or the thorns. We think on it for a little while, hoping to do better, but in the end it just never takes root, it dries and withers, and we fall back to the way we were as if we'd never heard. And when it falls into good soil, it takes root in our hearts. That is when we change for the better.

Tonight Cyril had no idea if he was going to change for the better, if what he heard would actually take root or if the rocks in his heart would choke them before they had a chance to grow. But tonight, he still had the sorrow of the fishing hole in his heart, and he had the realization of his own past transgressions, and he knew that as long as he could keep it there, he could do better.

Cyril Sneer, Environmental Crusader, he thought to himself, and quite liked the way it sounded.

Just so long as there was money in it.