Something was very wrong with Cyril Sneer. The day after the fishing hole clean-up, he didn't get out of bed. Nine o'clock, the official start of business hours, came and went and he didn't show up. Cedric was still at a sleepover with Bert at the clubhouse, so it was just Cyril and the pigs.

"Maybe we should do something," said Boyd.

"The boss says he doesn't want to see us if he isn't giving us an order," said Lloyd.

"But what if something's wrong?" asked Floyd.

"What if something isn't? Do you want to be the one he calls a ham hock while he kicks your curly tail with those unclipped toenails of his?"

Floyd's hands reflexively went straight to his bottom. That was all the answer that was needed.

"I'm going to try and call Master Cedric," said Lloyd. "Boyd, you peek in the door and see if everything's all right."

"Why me?"

"Because it was your idea to dump the barrels over the cliff!"

"No it wasn't! It was Floyd's!"

"My idea? It was Lloyd's idea!"

"How about you two rock-paper-scissors for it," suggested Lloyd.

"Why not you, huh?" demanded Boyd.

"Because I came up with the idea, so I get the easiest job."

Boyd and Floyd frowned. That was fair enough. Lloyd left, and the other two roshambo'd. Boyd lost because his brothers knew he always picked scissors.

"I'll be right behind you," said Floyd. "I mean, not in the boss's bedroom or anything, just out here in the hall. But still."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks a lot." He eased the door open, every quiet creak sounding like a fire alarm to his nervous and already sensitive ears. When the door was all the way open, he could see Cyril bunched up under the covers, facing away from the door. He cleared his throat. Cyril didn't move.

Boyd wondered if his boss had died during the night, and was really afraid he might have. He tiptoed over to the bed and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Um... boss?"

Cyril grunted. Boyd wasn't completely convinced it was just gas escaping. He crept around the huge, luxurious bed and it felt like walking the perimeter of an entire province, but he finally made it to Cyril's side of the bed.

His boss's eyes were open and they weren't dried out, so that was a good sign. Boyd waved his hand and held it up high, and Cyril's beady little pupils tracked its movements. "Um, boss? Are you okay?"

Cyril didn't answer right away, but he looked like he was steeling himself up for some humungous effort. He took a deep breath and said, "Just leave me alone, would you?"

Boyd didn't need telling twice. No longer trying to be secretive, he clopped out of the room and closed the door behind him. "He's not dead," he reported to his brother, "and he doesn't look sick."

"So what's wrong?" asked Floyd.

Boyd shrugged.

Meanwhile, Lloyd was on the phone. There was no phone line in the clubhouse, so he called the Raccoondominium first because that was where Bert lived. When he got no answer, he tried the Evergreen Standard. Melissa answered on the third ring. "You've reached the offices of the Evergreen Standard. This is Melissa Raccoon speaking, how may I help you?"

"Yes, I'm trying to get in touch with Cedric. I heard he was at that clubhouse with Bert."

"Oh, yes, they went there last night. Ralph tagged along." She pulled the receiver away from her mouth, but Lloyd could still hear her. "Ralph, honey, was Cedric at the clubhouse when you left this morning?"

Faintly, Lloyd heard Ralph's reply, "Cedric? I think so. He and Bert are working on some project together. I think they're getting ready for winter by building a sled. Bert found some instructions in a magazine..."

Melissa put the receiver back to her mouth. "Yes, he's there. Do you want one of us to head over there and send him home?"

"No, thanks. But if he shows up at the office, keep him there and tell him we're looking for him."

"Oh, okay. Bye."

They hung up the phone and Lloyd rejoined his brothers, who filled him in on the news.

"I'm taking the limo out to pick up Master Cedric," said Lloyd.

"You can't do that!" Floyd shrieked. "If the boss finds out, he'll kill you! And he can have us all sent right back to jail."

"If the boss finds out and does anything, it'll be an improvement," said Lloyd. "Are you coming or staying?

"Staying!" said Floyd at the same time Boyd said, "Coming." They glanced at each other. Then, Boyd said, "Staying," at the same time Floyd said, "Coming!"

Lloyd threw up his hands. "Just stay here, then! And call the raccoons if anything really bad happens."

"Why the raccoons?" asked Boyd.

"Because they know where I'll be if I'm not back."

Lloyd found the limo keys in Cyril's office and his own driving gloves under his bed. He had driven Cyril all over the Evergreen Forest, and even used it to run emergency errands without the boss explicitly there, but he had never once took the car out without permission, no matter how tempted he had been over the years. Driving it alone, and against the rules, he felt somehow like a punk rebel. Catching his eye in the rearview mirror, he wished he had a thick pair of shades and a toothpick to chew.

Soon enough, he arrived at the clubhouse and, just as Ralph had said, Cedric and Bert were building a sled. Cedric had a long list of calculations for the best way to distribute their weight along the runners for maximum downhill speed, and Bert was just hammering boards together to see what would happen. For the life of him, Lloyd never understood how Cedric and Bert had anything in common enough to be friends.

"Master Cedric," said Lloyd authoritatively, "your presence is needed back at the mansion."

Cedric looked disappointed. "Can't it wait? I've almost cracked this formula. It's only a few months before the snow starts, and the sled has to be perfect."

"Yeah," added Bert. "Can't you just see us, zooming down every hill in the forest? Why, I bet we set land speed records with this thing!" As he said it, the runner fell off the sled and right onto his foot. "Yeowch!" Bert grabbed his injured foot and began hopping on one foot in a circle. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!"

"I'd rather not discuss this in front of the outsider," said Lloyd, giving Bert a haughty look. Being Cyril's employee, he often felt as if he were above the common raccoons the same way Cyril felt himself to be. Or maybe it was just that they were always on opposite sides of every conflict, or even Cyril's bad attitude rubbing off on him. Still, he looked down his snout at Bert before he told Cedric briefly about his father's current condition.

"Oh, wow," said Bert, "you'd better go. That doesn't sound good. And for a guy his age? Yeesh."

"You're right," said Cedric. "We'll pick this up later. Bye, Bert."

"Take care, Cedric," said Bert, waving as Cedric and Lloyd left the clubhouse. For how much grief Cyril had given the raccoons over the years, there was still a part of Bert that was able to think of him as Cedric's father first and foremost, usually when he wasn't actually around.

Lloyd gave Cedric the rundown of what they had uncovered on the drive back, and Cedric promised up and down not to tell his father that the pig had taken his limo out without asking. He didn't even question why Lloyd hadn't picked one of the other, more practical and less expensive cars.

As soon as they got home Cedric went straight for Cyril's room. He knocked lightly on the door. "Pop? Are you in there?"

Faintly he heard his father's voice say, "Cedric?" It wasn't weak like he was sick, or like he was sleepy. It was weak like he just didn't have the heart to speak.

Cedric let himself in and closed the door, knowing that the pigs would be scrambling to get their ears pressed against it. "I hear you're not feeling so good, Pop."

Cyril rolled onto his back and propped himself up with his pillows.

Cedric sat on the edge of his bed. "Is it about the fishing hole? I know you're disappointed, but it can't be all that bad."

Cyril shook his head. "No, son, it's not about the fishing hole. It's about..."

It was hard to explain to his son what he was really feeling. The fishing hole was part of it, but what's more was what it symbolized- he knew his carefree youth was long behind him, and yet seeing that symbol of youthful innocence destroyed reminded him of how long ago his childhood really was. It was as he had said to Bentley, he'd had his summers, and they were over. It wasn't just a reminder of how old he really was, but how hard those years had been on him. The ulcers he was constantly keeping in check wasn't helping things, either.

Mostly, it was exacerbating his encounter with Ingrid Bellamour, which he hadn't told anyone about and prayed she hadn't, either. He really did love her, and wanted to be with her. She had turned him down before, and now she was completely unattainable. And as Cyril lay there, thinking of his dear departed wife, the mother of his son, he realized that he only ever had one chance at true love, and that chance was buried in the Sneer family tomb. He remembered his brief engagement to Lady Baden-Baden, and though the whole time he'd been trying to find a way out of it without losing Mammoth's business or disappointing his son, there was a huge part of him that just wanted to be married again. Those days with his wife had been some of the happiest of his life. A happiness that he painfully knew he would never feel again.

So he was old, and he was lonely, and he was depressed. That was all.

But he couldn't tell Cedric that. He couldn't even put it into words.

"It's complicated, son," said Cyril.

"Have you eaten yet today?" Cedric was prodding gently.

"I'm not hungry." He hadn't eaten dinner last night, either, or lunch before that, or...

"Why don't I get the pigs to fix you something?"

"Don't bother. It'd just end up getting thrown away. And that's wasteful. Our landfills are full enough." He repeated words Ingrid had said before, only with a spiteful tone.

"You need to eat something."

Cyril hiked up the covers and turned over onto his side. "Maybe I'll just starve," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, son."

Cedric was completely unable to comfort his father, and that scared him. He gave his father a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, Pop. I just remembered I need to make a quick phone call."

He got up and left, and pretended not to notice the pigs scrambling out of his way trying to pretend they hadn't heard every word. The doorbell rang as Cedric passed and he asked casually, "Can you get that?"

"Yes sir, yes sir," said the pigs, but their hearts weren't in it.

They ran downstairs to the front door and answered it. "Sneer residence, who may I ask-"

"Hello, boys!" Standing and beaming at them from the front step was none other than Mrs. Suey-Ellen Pig.

"Mom!" the pigs all shouted. Right away they all hugged each other.

"What brings you here?" asked Lloyd.

"Well, I'm sorry to say it's bad news." She opened up a newspaper. "I heard about your little trouble at the fishing hole and I was so worried."

The pigs faces all went red and they looked at the floor, embarrassed.

"It's okay, boys. It was a mistake. We're going to get through this. I'm staying in the forest for as long as it takes. Okay?"

"Okay," said the pigs.

"Let me show you to our room," said Boyd.

"I'll get your bags!" said Floyd.

"You're such helpful boys," said Mrs. Pig as they all grabbed her suitcases out of the trunk of her roadster and led the way to the servant's quarters. "I'm lucky to have you." Even if Cyril isn't, the pigs finished silently.

Down the hall they passed Cedric, who was on the phone with Dr. Canard. Though they didn't stay to listen, we will.

"So what do you think?" asked Cedric as he finished relaying the events.

"Hmm, hard to say," said Dr. Canard. "It doesn't sound like anything is physically wrong with him. If you ask me, I think he might need to check into the hospital. They'll be able to find out what's bothering him."

"You really think that's necessary?" Cedric went pale.

"Maybe not, but if a man doesn't eat and doesn't get out of bed, he's seriously depressed, and that's a health risk in itself. Just keep it in mind. If he doesn't seem like he's getting better, give me a call. I have a psychiatrist colleague I can get you in touch with who can help him. But only if it comes to that."

"Well... okay. thanks, Dr. Canard." They said goodbye and hung up.

"Gee... Pop hates the hospital," said Cedric to himself, though that wasn't the reason he wanted to keep his father out of it. Cyril might not be as bothered by hospitals as he used to be, but he still might not react well to another extended stay, especially for a reason that was still so taboo in the modern world.

To avoid thinking about it, he went to find the pigs and ask who had been at the door. He was pleasantly surprised when he knocked and they invited him in so he could see who was there.

"Mrs. Pig!" he said happily. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"I didn't, either," said Mrs. Pig. "But my boys needed me, and a mother always comes when she knows her boys need her."

"My Pop's the same way," said Cedric, smiling.

The pigs and Cedric glanced at each other as there was an odd, shared moment between them. Cedric had been without a mother his entire life, and the pig's father had passed away when they were still piglets.

"Actually, the boys were just telling me that there might be some more trouble today. I hear your father isn't feeling well."

Not wanting to go into details, Cedric just said, "No, I'm afraid he's not."

"Maybe I can help. I used to take care of these ones all the time. They got sick all at the same time, you know, since they did everything together."

"Mo-om," whined Floyd. "don't embarrass us!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Mrs. Pig sincerely. "But please, let me check on Mr. Sneer. I haven't seen him since the fair." She gave each of her boys a kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back soon, I promise. I love you"

When she kissed them, the pigs smiled genuine, happy smiles. "We love you, too, Mom," they said in unison.

Cedric wasn't sure his father would like it, but he was desperate. He brought Mrs. Pig to Cyril's room and let her in. "Mrs. Pig's here to see you, Pop. She came to visit her sons and wanted to say hello."

"Hello, Mr. Sneer," said Mrs. Pig. "I understand you're not feeling well today."

Cyril grunted, but he actually rolled over to look at her. "Just having an off day," he muttered.

"I'd better go check the answering machine," said Cedric. "Clients aren't used to the business being closed on a weekday." In reality, it was an excuse. He had just suddenly felt out of place and like he was intruding on a personal moment.

Mrs. Pig went to Cyril's bedside. She reached out and put a hand on his forehead.

Cyril sneered. "What are you doing?"

"You aren't running a temperature," she said. "Open your mouth and say aah."

"What do you mean? You're not my doctor."

"Aaah, Mr. Sneer."

Cyril rolled his eyes and did as she instructed, hoping it would be over sooner if he did. "Aaahhh... there, are you happy?"

"You're not sick," said Mrs. Pig. "You know, my boys used to say they were sick so they could stay in bed all day when something was bothering them and they just didn't want to face the world."

"They haven't changed much," grumbled Cyril.

"I know something's bothering you and you don't want to talk about it," said Mrs. Pig.

"It's not that," said Cyril. He was beginning to feel everyone was getting the wrong idea. "It's that I can't talk about it. I don't really know what it is."

"Oh, I see." Mrs. Pig nodded with understanding. "In that case, I know just what you need." She smiled, gave him a gentle boop on the snout with her finger, then turned and left.

Cyril propped himself up with one elbow and stared at the door where she'd disappeared. She was gone for a while, and after some time passed Cyril began to wonder if he'd actually fallen asleep and dreamed that she had been there. Eventually, though, she returned- and she was carrying a huge banana split with three scoops of vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.

Cyril was blown away. "You think a man my age can eat like that without it catching up to him?"

"It isn't any more unhealthy than lying in bed all day and not eating anything at all. My boys always had an easier time talking about what was wrong over a delicious banana split sundae." She held out two spoons. "Just so long as you remember to share."

Cyril looked uncertainly down at the banana split before him.

I can see a light shine in the night from you

With nothing to lose, he shrugged and took one of the spoons from her

Somewhere in the dark, a lone spark or two

Mrs. Pig looked pleased as he scooped up the tiniest bit of ice cream and slid it into his mouth.

So why, oh why, can't I get through to you?

He put the spoon back in the dish and lay back on his pillows. Mrs. Pig frowned. She nudged the sundae closer to him

I try and try, but what more can I do?

Cyril just gave her an exasperated look, clearly not interested in playing her game.

Sooner or later
The sooner, the better

Mrs. Pig took a big bite of ice cream and made an exaggerated "mmmm" sound, and looked at Cyril encouragingly.

Tell her you love her
Never forget her

Cyril picked the spoon back up and gave it another try. He took a slightly bigger spoonful.

When he swallowed it, a microscopically tiny smile crossed his lips.

Sooner than later
The sooner, the better...

They both began eating, Mrs. Pig talking about how her boys used to be when they were little enough for her to make ice cream for, and Cyril laughing and relating similar stories between him and Cedric.

Well, she knows you love her
Gonna make it forever

When Mrs. Pig left the room with the empty ice cream dish an hour later, Cedric was practically waiting by the door for her. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Very well," said Mrs. Pig. "I got him to eat and I got him to talk."

"Mrs. Pig, you're amazing," said Cedric. "That's more than any of us were able to do."

"It just takes a mother's touch sometimes," she said as she walked to the kitchen with a light step, humming to herself.