Floyd barged into the Evergreen Standard. "Where's your morgue?" he shouted.

Ralph jumped a mile. Melissa's typewriter carriage returned. Bert fell out of his chair.

"Excuse me?" said Ralph, trying to compose himself.

"You know, where do you keep all your old newspaper articles?"

"Ohh," Ralph nodded. "They're stored on microfilm in a room at the museum. Professor Smedley-Smyth-"

Floyd slammed the door and was gone.

"... generously allows us some storage space," Ralph finished lamely.

"I didn't know that was called a morgue," said Bert.

Melissa reset her typewriter. "He certainly seemed to be in a hurry."

Meanwhile, Floyd's brothers were in their room, where Linus Mustela was going over the details of their case. Currently, it was not going well.

"So let me get this straight." Linus pinched the bridge of his nose. "You went to a seedy warehouse in the middle of the night to claim unmarked barrels and dumped them off the edge of a hill where you didn't know what was at the bottom of it?"

"Uh..." the pigs looked down sheepishly. "Yes."

"Okay. I think I can work with this. You were moonlighting, hence the unusual time... 'moon-light.' I think they'll believe you had no reason to believe the barrels were deadly if they were unmarked. And it was dark, so you could have thought you were down through the approved dumping zone."

"That sounds like a lie," said Boyd.

"That's not a lie. That's spin," said Linus. "Unless you want to go to prison."

"No!" said the pigs quickly.

"Good. Now. Let's practice saying it like nice little victims..."

Later that evening, Ralph and Melissa walked into the Blue Spruce Café holding hands. "Crowded tonight," said Ralph as he scanned the tables, all seemingly full. "Table for two, Schaeffer?"

"Over here." Schaeffer gestured towards a small table in the corner. "I knew you were coming so I made sure to hold one for you. Care to sign up for karaoke?"

"No thanks," said Ralph as Melissa said, "Sure, why not?"

They both looked at each other.

"Come on, Ralph," urged Melissa. "It'll be fun."

"I'm not a singer," said Ralph. "Go ahead, Melissa. I'll watch you."

Melissa signed up and picked her song. Meanwhile, Bert finished his song and jumped off the stage. "Yahoo! That was so much fun! Hey, Ralphie-boy!" He spotted his friend and made a beeline for the table where Ralph was just sitting down. Upon arriving he slapped his friend on the back. "Didja see me sing?"

"I heard the last few bars," said Ralph. "Not bad."

"I'm gonna go sign up again! This is fun!" He bounded off for the counter, passing Melissa as she returned to Ralph.

Bert spotted Cedric and Sophia on his way to the counter. They were sitting at a table for four with two empty chairs. "Hey, Cedric! Sophia! How was the show?"

Sophia proudly held up her 4th place ribbon. "I didn't get a trophy, but I placed."

"Wow," said Bert. "They musta been amazing if they managed to out-skate you. What, were they penguins?"

Sophia giggled. "No, just native birds."

"So, uh, how's your dad, Cedric?" asked Bert. He wasn't sure how much Cedric would say in front of Sophia, but if he opened up to anyone, it'd be those two.

"See for yourself," said Cedric. He pointed over Bert's shoulder, Bert turned around and was face-to-face with Cyril Sneer. "Oh, uh, hey, Mr. Sneer," said Bert with nervous politeness.

"Come sit with us," said Cedric to his father, gesturing to the two empty seats.

Bert quietly excused himself as Cyril and Mrs. Pig sat down in the empty chairs. "So, how's the entertainment tonight?" asked Cyril.

"Melissa's about to give the karaoke machine a spin," said Sophia.

On stage, the sound of a piano and horn kicked in. Melissa held the microphone in both her paws as she scanned the screen for the upcoming lyrics. She started out with an uncertain voice which got stronger as she went along:

Don't know why I feel like crying
Full moon's rising through the trees
Mountains are the night horizon
Just in case the lake might freeze...

"She's pretty good," said Cedric.

"Do you think we should sing something?" asked Sophia.

"That would be nice," said Mrs. Pig. "Would you like to sing with me, Cyril?"

"No," said Cyril. "I don't do that."

"It'll be fun," said Cedric. "There are a lot of duets you can pick from."

At Mrs. Pig's insistence, Cyril heaved himself up like it was some monstrous effort and trudged over with her to the bar with a book listing all of the songs they could sing. Sophia and Cedric watched over the older couple's shoulders.

"Here I Go Again... All Life Long... Friends... One More Night... To Have You... When The Sun Comes Up..." Cedric read aloud.

"Never heard of any of these songs," said Cyril.

"We'll do this one," said Cedric, pointing to the book. "'To Have You.'"

"Oh, I love that song," said Sophia with a dreamy sigh.

"Schaeffer, how do we sign up?"

Schaeffer pushed a clipboard towards them. "Just write your name and song number in the next available spot."

The party went back to the table. While they were gone, someone had left a binder right in the center of the table. It was thick, with a transparent pocket cover. A piece of paper had been slipped in, with letters cut out of today's Evergreen Standard arranged to read "Cyril Sneer: A History. For Mrs. Pig."

"How strange," said Mrs. Pig, taking her seat and pulling the binder towards her. "Who do you suppose left this?"

"And what's in it?" added Sophia.

She opened the binder. It was filled with plastic page protectors covering pieces of cardstock with news clippings pasted onto them. The first clipping read: "Evergreen Forest to be Leveled for Sneer High Rises."

"Oh, my," said Mrs. Pig.

"I wasn't going to level the entire forest!" Cyril sputtered. "Besides, that project never came to light."

Mrs. Pig flipped the page. There, in black and white, was the news story protesting his decision to pave the entire forest for some peace and quiet.

"Those photos were taken out of context!" Cyril argued.

Page after page of headlines where Cyril's antics made the front page of the Standard followed. The time he faked a lake monster to build a theme park. The time he spent in jail for stealing the Prism of Zenda. How he'd tried to silence the press by cutting off their supplies. There was no shortage of headlines, and someone had meticulously printed, cut, and paste them in this scrapbook of shame.

Mrs. Pig looked up at Cyril, who was staring at her with big eyes that were both sad and scared, his mouth open to say something that just wasn't coming. "Excuse me," said Mrs. Pig. She stood up and hurried off to the ladies room.

Cyril looked helplessly at his son. "What do I do?"

Sophia stood up. 'I'll go after her," she said, and quickly hurried off.

Cyril stood up and hurried over to the bar. "If there's any justice in this world, you'll have what I'm looking for," he grumbled under his breath. "A-ha!" He slapped his palm on the bar. "You! Mutt! Schaeffer!"

Schaeffer, who was busy cleaning a glass, gave Cyril an impatient look. It was amazing how much emotion he could express without ever showing his eyes.

Cyril grunted. "Please," he said gruffly, "Play this song for me."

Schaeffer glanced down at the book. "Hmm," he said. "I think I could squeeze you in next." He looked at Cyril expectantly.

Cyril stared at him. Then, realizing what Schaeffer was waiting for, rolled his eyes and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Schaeffer.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Pig was powdering her snout in the bathroom mirror. Sophia was standing behind her. "So you really didn't know what Mr. Sneer was like?" asked Sophia.

"No, I didn't," replied Mrs. Pig. "I had never heard of him before my boys told me that he was working for them- or that they were working for him, as it turned out. We don't get a lot of Evergreen Forest news way out where I live. A few times in their letters they mentioned he was difficult, but we always got along so well I didn't think about it."

"You mean you never heard he was..."

They both let the unsaid adjectives hang in the air. Greedy. Selfish. Tyrannical. Cruel. Rude. The list could go on.

"He doesn't like me very much," admitted Sophia. "It takes a lot to get on his good side."

"I already am on his good side," said Mrs. Pig.

"It's a nice place to be."

"But that doesn't make everything else he does okay," Mrs. Pig finished. "Just because he's nice to me, I can't ignore how he is to everyone else. It was different when he was just cranky and short with others. But when he's so unethical? Immoral? I can't ignore that."

"He's an environmental crusader now," said Sophia. "I think he's trying to change, and he has been for a while."

"I just don't know," said Mrs. Pig.

A toilet flushed and Lisa Raccoon came out of the stall. "Sorry," she said, striding over to the sink to wash her hands. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhearing. I'm Lisa Raccoon. I'm new in the forest." She held up her soapy hands. "I'd shake your hand, but, well..." She rinsed them off. "I just wanted to say that Bert and Uncle Ralph and Aunt Melissa are always hard on Cyril, but he's always been nice to me and Bentley. He's always got time for Bentley and he gives me some really good advice. The Standard never really talks about that."

She dried her hands on the paper towel and then pitched it into the trash can across the room. It made it in, and she grinned. "I guess they have a lot of history with him that I don't, but I think he's okay."

Mrs. Pig nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for your input, Lisa."

"No problem. See you, Soph." Lisa waved and left.

Mrs. Pig took a deep breath. "I think Cyril and I need to have a long talk."

"That's a good start," said Sophia.

Mrs. Pig opened the bathroom door and stepped out. She was immediately greeted by a squeal of microphone feedback.

Cyril Sneer was onstage, adjusting the mic. "How do you work this thing? Oh, there we go..." He tapped the karaoke screen. Some lively music started playing. He looked around the room, spotted Mrs. Pig, and began to sing directly to her:

It looks like you just found out
I did something rotten
But as turns out I'd
Already forgotten
I've done lots of bad things
That's already been put in my past

And I'd like to tell you
That I'm already changing
But you've got to see that
I'm right now rearranging
With your own eyes
Then you might believe me at last

You know how I love you
You know I really want you

So if you will let me
I'll show you who I can be
There is no other option
For us, there is no plan B
You don't have to trust me
You only have to hang on, wait, and see

You know how I love you
You know I really want you

Don't you ever give up
Don't you ever, ever, ever give up on me
Don't you ever give up
Please, don't ever, ever, ever give up on me...

The music faded and Cyril slid the microphone back into the stand. He looked at Mrs. Pig, ears down, eyes mournful, just staring at her longingly.

Mrs. Pig walked up to the stage, climbed up, and kissed him on the nose. "Oh, Cyril... I love you. Everything else will work out if we work at it. We have plenty of time to do that." She took his hand. "Let's go back to the mansion and have a good, long talk."

The café crowd cheered at them, except for one scream of frustration that was drowned out. Floyd was hiding behind a potted fern, tearing at a newspaper with holes cut in the headlines. "A whole day, wasted!" he cried out before storming from the establishment unnoticed.

Lloyd and Boyd were pretty much giving Floyd a wide berth, as he'd gone a bit off the deep end over the whole mom-kissing ordeal. They had no idea of how far he had gone regarding the archive binder he'd given to their mother, nor did they suspect he was cooking up another scheme. They were far too busy with Linus going over how they were going to act on their court date, which was rapidly approaching. Mrs. Pig spent time watching them, sitting on a chair working on her needlepoint and adding her advice where she felt it was necessary. All that really mattered was that she was there.

"Okay," Linus said to them. It was the next day, and he and the three little pigs were practicing in their room with Mrs. Pig. "Show me your sad faces."

Right away the two pigs put on the longest, saddest faces they could. "We didn't know what was in the barrels," said Boyd sadly. "We thought they were just ordinary drums."

"And they were sealed tight," added Lloyd, "so we couldn't open them and check."

Mrs. Pig smiled. "Those are my boys," she said with a strange sort of sad pride in her voice.

"Not bad, not bad," said Linus. "I can see you've been practicing."

"That's right," said Boyd. "We even recorded ourselves and watched the tapes like you told us to."

Floyd's ears perked up. "Wait, when did you do that? Where did you get a camera?"

"We did it while you were moping about Mom," said Lloyd.

"Yeah, and we just used the old security cameras. You know, the ones we hooked the computer system into a while ago."

"I thought the computer was completely fried," said Floyd.

"No," said Boyd, "just the security system. That's been deactivated it and the boss doesn't use the whole system anymore, but the cameras have always worked. Lloyd makes backups of the tapes every night for archival."

"... How far back to they go?" asked Floyd cautiously.

"Five years," said Lloyd. "But I've started taping over all the oldest ones."

Floyd jumped up. "That's it!" he shrieked. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a diary and bolted from the room.

The others watched him go.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Mrs. Pig said.

Boyd turned to Linus and asked, "Is it too late to ask to be tried separately?"

"Unfortunately, yes," said Linus. "Do you want to try and wrangle him back?"

"No," said Lloyd. "Let's just go over this again..."

Though Mrs. Pig still spent time with Cyril, she kept her promise to make her boys wonderful new suits to impress the judge, black jackets with white shirts and dark ties. On the morning of their court date, the pigs woke up and found three new suits lying out on the dresser with a note saying, "Surprise! Love you boys! -Mom" and a few hearts drawn.

Lloyd picked up the suit and ran it between his fingers. "Wow. Mom still makes the best clothes."

"I love her stitching," cooed Boyd. He changed out of his jammies and into the suit in record time so he could test the fit. "Aww, she still remembers my waist size."

"This fabric is too nice," grumbled Floyd. "The boss probably bought it for her."

"So what? Mom still made it," said Lloyd, who was also changing. "I'm getting really tired of your attitude about this."

"Yeah," added Boyd. "Mom's been here for us the whole time. You just haven't been around because you're too traumatized by the best thing to ever happen to us!"

"Can we not do this right now?" Lloyd said curtly. "The judge isn't going to like it if we fight in court today."

There was a knock on the door. "May I come in, boys?" Mrs. Pig asked.

"Yes, Mom," said Lloyd and Boyd.

She opened the door and smiled right away. "Oh, you boys look so handsome. Despite the reason you're wearing the suits, I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom," they said.

Floyd, who was still in his pajamas, sat on the bed and crossed his arms. Mrs. Pig sat down next to him. "Are you going to do everything Mr. Mustela says today, Floyd?"

"Might as well," Floyd grumbled.

"Are you going to stay mad at me forever?"

Floyd was taken aback. "I'm not mad at you! I could never be mad at you, Mom!"

"Then are you going to be mad at Mr. Sneer forever?"

"I'm not mad at him either. Well, not about this," admitted Floyd.

"So what can we do to help you get through this?"

Floyd shrugged.

"Promise me you'll do your best in court today, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

Linus poked his head through the doorway. "Knock knock. Ready, kids?"

"Ready," said Lloyd and Boyd.

"Today's the big day. Are you ready?"

"Ready!" said Lloyd.

"Ready!" said Boyd.

"And you?" Linus asked Floyd.

Floyd grinned. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm ready. I'm very ready..." and here he gave his pillow a good pat.

"Okay, that was creepy," said Linus. "But whatever. Come on, pigs. Let's get to the courthouse."

"See you soon, boys," said Mrs. Pig. "Do your best."

"We will, Mom," said all three pigs.

In a flash, Floyd was in his suit as well, and they all left for the day that would determine the future of the pigs.

That evening a letter slid through the mail slot of the offices of the Evergreen Standard. Ralph looked up from the typewriter. "What's that?"

Melissa stopped turning the printing press and picked up the letter. "It's an invitation," she said. She opened it, and as she read it her jaw dropped.

"Who's throwing it?" Ralph joined her, reading over her shoulder.

"Cyril Sneer!"

It was an invitation to a party at Sneer Manor, starting in less than an hour to celebrate the pig's court sentence- they'd gotten off with a few hundred hours of community service and wouldn't have to spend a day in jail.

Melissa grabbed her camera. "I've got to see this," she said.

"Bert!" Ralph called. "Finish running off tomorrow's edition of the Standard and meet us at Sneer Manor!"

"Gotchya, Ralphie-boy!" Bert was under his desk, working on a paper clip chain to get his quarter out from a crack in the floor. He jumped up, hitting his head on the desk, and then crawled out. "Ow."

When Ralph and Melissa arrived together, the party was in full swing. Cyril's driveway was packed with cars and bicycles. There were balloons on the menacing statues out front, a huge banner over the doorway congratulating the pigs, and streamers all along the walkway.

"I never thought I'd see the day," said Ralph in amazement.

"I'm surprised he managed to put all this together so quickly." Melissa held up her camera and snapped a picture.

Inside, Cyril Sneer was at a hastily set-up podium, making a speech to the crowd. "...And I would just like to say that I am very glad that my boys made it through the court date with only community service. And thought it will take them away from the mansion for some time, I am going to go on record as saying that I will continue paying them their normal wages while they're doing whatever community service they're assigned."

Linus Mustela nudged his way up to the podium and grabbed the microphone. "And if anyone needs a great defense attorney, I'm handing out my business cards here. That's Linus Mustela, as in You Wanna Get Off, You Otter Call Linus!"

"I thought you were a weasel," said Cyril.

"Same family of classification," said Linus. "Weasel, otter, ferret, mink..." He stroked his chin, then, into the microphone, said, "I mink you otter call Linus if you wanna weasel your way out."

"Too much," said Cyril. "One pun per sentence."

"Sorry."

"So enjoy the party," said Cyril. "I couldn't be happier. Grab some appetizers, hit the buffet, and dance to the music!"

"I never thought I'd see the day," said Ralph. "I mean, I knew he'd come a long way, but I didn't think he'd become this social."

"He's really glad he still has the pigs," added Melissa.

Cedric saw the two raccoons and joined them. "Isn't it great? The pigs are just going to have to work on cleaning up the environment, so the hours they already did were taken into consideration."

"Wow," said Ralph. He pulled out his notebook. "We have got to do a story on this."

Just then Linus popped up behind them. "How much does it cost to take out an ad? I wanna get my name saturated in this forest while the case is still relevant."

"Uh... come on down to the offices tomorrow and we'll work something out for Thursday's edition."

"Sounds good," said Linus. "Here's my card. I'm gonna go mingle."

As they mingled, Floyd strode out onto the stage. He was dragging a tripod and a screen, which only took him a minute to set up. "Ahem," he said into the podium. "I have a very special film I want to show tonight. It's especially for you, Mom."

"I don't like the way he said that," said Boyd from the crowd.

Floyd put an old projector on the podium and unpacked his tripod into a full screen stand, then used a long hook to pull down the screen. He pushed a button on the projector, and a grainy home movie popped up.

It clearly showed Cyril and the pigs in the vault. The sound was a bit grainy, but the audience could still understand every word being said.

Cyril was sitting at a long table working, with the pigs on the other end. He was covered in ink with a roll of adding machine paper over his face. "What are you morons doing?" he snarled. "This place looks like a pigsty!"

"Oh, thanks, sir!" said Floyd happily. "We try, sir!"

"You idiots are costing me money on the stock market! And right now, pork futures aren't looking very bright!"

The audience gasped.

As soon as that clip ended, another began. This was the room outside the vault, at a different time. Cyril was again shouting.

"Intruder? That's no intruder, ham-head! That's my son!"

"We were only following orders," said Lloyd lamely.

"Yes sir," added Floyd. "Your orders, sir."

Cyril squinted hard at the nearest pig. "You know," he said calmly, "You'd look good with an apple in your mouth. That's my son you've trapped in there! The one I built my empire for! The heir to that very vault! My Cedric," he moaned.

"But sir-"

Cyril turned to another pig. "Get an apple for his mouth."

And after that came another. And another. The audience was completely silent, the intensely uncomfortable silence of a crowd trapped in the most awkward situation imaginable. The residents of the forest were enraptured watching scene after scene of abuse. He shouted. He ranted. More cruel names followed: Ham hocks. Bacon bits. Porkers. Each word was as uncomfortable to the animals as a racial slur would be to us.

Eventually the film ran out and the screen went white. Floyd turned the lights back on. "This concludes the presentation," he said. "Are there any questions?"

Cyril was gaping at the blank screen. He slowly turned to Mrs. Pig. This time she didn't look surprised, or confused. She looked angry.

Not just angry. Furious.

She crossed the room, the crowd parting for her as she stormed over to him. "Mr. Sneer," she said in the iciest voice possible. "Is that how you treat my boys?"

"Uh- well, that is-"

"Do you shout at them more than you speak normally any time I'm not around?"

"Of course not! I- I talk to them."

"Oh, I heard you talk, all right. Bacon bits. Ham hocks. Luau feast. Is that how you see them?" Even as someone who had to look up to see his face, Mrs. Pig could really stare Cyril down. "Is that how you see me?"

"Not you!" Cyril said desperately. "Never you!"

"So I'm just one of the good ones, is that it?"

Cyril didn't know what to say.

"I think we're done here," said Mrs. Pig. "I would appreciate it if you didn't show me the door. I know my own way out." She turned around and left.

It was so quiet you could hear a flea sneeze. All eyes were on Cyril Sneer, who was watching the door where Mrs. Pig had exited.

Then Cyril Sneer broke down and cried. He dropped to his knees, face in his hands, and let the tears come home.

He knew he blew it. Just like with Ingrid.

In everybody's life, just once
Hopefully twice...

But it wasn't twice. Not for him.