The Sneer Family Tomb was located in a remote part of Sneer Estates. Like the manor, it was made of stone and guarded with aardvark gargoyles. Inside there were vaults locked tight, designed to protect the remains of the most notable Sneer ancestors. Near the back, in a forgotten corridor, was Cyril Sneer, standing outside the only vault that meant anything to him.

"It's me, Cheryl," he said. "I miss you."

In his hands he clutched a bouquet of red roses. He lay the down on the ground under the vault. "Cedric's doing great," he continued. "Never been more proud of him. He's still got your ears, you know. And he makes money like you used to. Every day I see more and more of us in that boy."

He sighed. "I thought I might have found someone else. But now I know that I was never meant to be with anyone else. It's all right, though." He ran his fingers over the vault. "The time we had together was perfect. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Not even all the money in the world." He laughed a little. "Because if I had all the money in the world, who would I do business with?"

He stood there, touching the vault with his fingertips, and didn't say anything else. He just wanted to spend time with someone he knew had loved him, no matter what he did. And someone who wouldn't turn him away.

"I hope you're happy with yourself," said Lloyd.

The pigs were in their room. Floyd was sitting on his bed, hands folded in his lap, looking down. His pink face was bright red. Lloyd and Boyd were standing in front of him, really giving him the business.

"Mom's gone back home," added Boyd.

"She took the train to the city this morning. She's getting a flight out." Now that she was making money showing her Harvey Hurricane at car shows, she could both afford to travel by plane and was better off doing so as to keep the car in good condition.

"Now the boss is going to go right back to being mad at us like he was before."

"He might even fire us over this."

"And then where will we go?"

Floyd expected that when his mother left, he would be relieved. Instead, he felt... really bad. He couldn't quite explain it, or understand it, but he felt just plain bad. Well, maybe he could understand it, but to admit that would mean admitting he was wrong. And nobody likes to admit that they're wrong.

"Well, aren't you going to say something?"

Floyd shook his head. He couldn't get the image of his mother storming out out of his head. For the first time, he was able to think of her and Cyril as a couple without a big black filter blocking it out with the words [Censored: Contains Mother-Kissing] stamped over it in white. Basically, he realized he had been selfish. He never thought about how breaking them up would hurt her before. Now he couldn't get it out of his head.

Someone knocked lightly. "Come in," said Lloyd.

Cedric opened the door. "Hi, pigs. Have you seen Pop?"

"No," said the pigs.

"I'm really worried about him," said Cedric. After how bad off he was before Mrs. Pig snapped him out of it, there was no telling how far he would fall with her storming out of his life. He gave Floyd a look.

"I'm really sorry," Floyd mumbled.

"Well, you still did it," Cedric replied simply. "Don't you have community service today?"

"We were just getting ready to go," said Boyd.

"Better hurry," said Cedric. "You'll get in trouble if you're late."

Next Cedric found Cyril sitting on the balcony railing outside his bedroom, flipping through the Evergreen Standard. "Stupid rag," he muttered, puffing on his cigar. Cedric suspected that it included all the details of yesterday, from the pig's trial to the party to the episode at the end.

"May I see?" asked Cedric.

Cyril folded the newspaper and tossed it to his son, then gripped the ledge with his now empty hands so they would have something to do, drumming his fingers impatiently. Cedric opened it and saw there were several pictures of the party in full swing, but none of Cyril breaking down and only mentioned that the party broke up after an "altercation between Mr. Sneer and one of the guests." Given how much attention had been given to the kiss, he was surprised so little was made of the break-up.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Cedric as he finished.

"Nothing to do," said Cyril. "She hates me. End of story."

"You're just going to let it go?"

"It's no surprise. It was just a matter of time, especially given that the same thing happened with Ingrid."

"You know, Ingrid would have given you another chance," said Cedric. "She did like you, Pop. She just needed a little time."

Cyril shook his head. "No," he said. "She's with someone else. I learned that at the launch party for the new product line."

"Oh."

Cyril slid onto ground. "Don't worry, son. I've given it a lot of thought. I was happy before we were together, so I can be happy without her."

"I don't know, Pop..."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you should go after her."

"She's already in the city. Her plane leaves in a few hours."

"The train ride won't take that long."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, son," said Cyril, "but I think this is a little beyond you."

"Pop, don't you remember when Sophia and I had our first big fight?"

"No."

"When you wanted to build the Cyril Dome on the lake? And they wanted me to play on their team to save it, even though I was afraid to stand up to you?"

"Oh. That."

"I was scared of what would happen if you found out it was me under that uniform, but in the end I did it anyway." He paused. "She was really mad at me when I said I wouldn't. I thought she was going to hate me forever. But I was afraid of what you would do, too. In the end, I realized it was something I had to do. I did it, and I've never looked back."

"I get where you're going with this, son, but it's different."

"Yeah. It's really different. But it's kind of the same, too."

Cyril hopped back up on the railing and took the newspaper back. "Well, we'll just have to agree to disagree." He crossed his legs and opened the newspaper, signifying the conversation was over.

The door to the balcony opened and Lloyd waved nervously at his boss from the doorway. "Um, we're about to head down to the park to start our community service," he said.

Cyril grunted, but got back down and pushed past Lloyd into the bedroom. His keys were on the nightstand, and he picked them up and tossed them to the pig. "Here. Take the red car."

Lloyd looked at the keys, then up at his boss. "Um... are you going to fire us?"

"For what?"

"For... um, what happened at the party?"

"No," said Cyril.

Lloyd was surprised, and he left quickly before his boss could change his mind.

"You know what's interesting?" Cedric said when Lloyd left.

"No, what's interesting?" Cyril didn't sound interested, though.

"Floyd used his diary to find the clips he wanted. He left it in the control room, and he had tags sticking out of all the pages, and he left the tapes on the desk out of order."

"That's not interesting, that's annoying."

"No, I mean, the dates he used were clearly indicated. The most recent one was from over a year ago."

"What's your point?"

"I think you know my point, Pop."

Cyril sat down on the edge of the bed. Everything was quiet. Cedric silently excused himself as Cyril just sat and thought.

Finally, he got up, grabbed his spare keys and took off.

The train pulled into the City Station at 5:05 that evening. There had been a lot of delays on the track, and Cyril didn't expect to get to the city anywhere near on time. Honestly, he figured he would be too late, get a room at a hotel, and just take a few days vacation to get his mind off everything. But as soon as the train pulled in and he checked the time, he realized that he wasn't too late.

The decision hadn't been made for him by fate. It was time for him to make the decision himself. Cyril hailed a taxi, rather than wait for the shuttle, and rode straight to the airport.

The airport was bustling with activity, tickets being used, crowds passing security, lines of baggage waiting to be checked, families saying goodbye for a time, folks shopping and eating while waiting... Cyril was used to traveling to busy places, but was even more used to the stillness and tranquility that came with the Evergreen Forest, and especially given his current state of mind, he felt a little overwhelmed.

There was only one flight going to Mrs. Pig's hometown- or rather, the large city she lived way on the outskirts of. Flight 2319. It hadn't yet departed.

Cyril squared his shoulders and headed past security.

"Excuse me," a guard said, stopping him. "You can't go through here without a boarding pass."

"I'm not catching a flight," said Cyril. "I just need to speak to someone about to get on a plane."

"Sorry, but only people with flights to catch are allowed past here."

Cyril checked the sign over their heads to see which airline departed from this part of the airport. "Look here," he said, "I'm a major shareholder in this airline. The major shareholder, actually. I practically own this part of the airport, so you can just let me through."

The guard raised his eyebrow.

"I have five minutes," said Cyril. "If she gets on that plane, I'll have lost my chance forever."

The security guard nodded once. "Do you have any bags?"

Cyril held his arms out. "Nothing but my cigar and my kerchief."

"Put it out," said the guard. He picked up an ashtray, which Cyril obediently used to snuff out his cigar.

"I'm going to turn my back and check this scanner, and what happens happens," said the guard.

Cyril nodded.

Over the intercom, a cheery female voice said, "Attention! Flight 2319 is now boarding the A group. Everyone with a pass for Flight 2319, Group A is now boarding."

"That flight's on the other side of the terminal," said the guard. "Better hurry."

Cyril loosened his kerchief and took off running.

Hey, boy, when your heart is breaking
Hey, boy, when she's through taking
Everything that she can take from you

Up ahead was a moving walkway. Cyril ran right on it. Everyone riding stepped as close to the right as possible as Cyril tore past them at top speed. He left everyone walking on the regular ground in the dust.

Hey, boy, when you're through with losing
Hey, boy, when you're down and bruising
Everything seems so cruel to you

At the very end of the moving floor was a baggage cart half-full of luggage. Cyril tipped it sideways and dumped the luggage off. "Sorry!" he yelled as he jumped on the edge, pushing off with his left foot and sailing across the ground at top speed. There were a few angry shouts. "It's for love!" Cyril called back.

You gotta hold on, hang on
'Till I get through to you

Dodge left! Turn right! He passed a surge exiting a plane and the crowd suddenly got too thick for rolling. Cyril then used the cart as a launching pad to jump up on the shoulders of the travelers, effectively going over the crowd at it's most dense point. "Excuse me! Coming through!"

Keep the light on, love strong
I'll find my way to you!

Cyril ran out of crowd and landed on the ground. Then he vaulted over a low barrier separating the waiting area for the airline from the walking path. "Suey Ellen! Suey Ellen!" he shouted. He jumped over the empty seats for the previously-waiting crowd just like he used to jump vaults in his track days.

From the line waiting to board, Mrs. Pig turned around. She looked surprised to see Cyril running along the tops of the chairs. She did not look happy to see him.

Hey, boy, I know youre hurting
Hey, boy, take strength it's certain
I can find the way to get to you...

Cyril landed on the ground in front of Mrs. Pig. She was standing at what had previously been the back of the line, though it had moved up since then, giving them a bit of space.

"Mr. Sneer," said Mrs. Pig coldly. The use of her old form of addressing him did not go over Cyril's head. "I believe I made myself clear back at your manor."

"All right, all right," said Cyril. "Just let me have my say. If you're walking out of my life forever, at least give me a chance to spill my heart out."

Mrs. Pig sniffed. "You have three minutes."

Cyril was panting and wheezing. He hunched over, one arm over his stomach, and held up to fingers. "Just... just give me a moment... I have got to quit smoking..."

"Two minutes, forty seconds," said Mrs. Pig.

"All right, all right," he said. "I see where you're coming from. Suey Ellen, you've seen the worst of me. That's it. It doesn't get any worse."

"That's what I thought after the scrapbook."

"You thought it, but I didn't say it because I wouldn't lie. I'm not lying. I didn't say it then because I didn't want you to know how I could be. I didn't think you'd love who I might have been."

"You were right about that."

Cyril spread his arms. "But don't you see? You've already see the best of me, and now the worst. The worst, everything you saw, that's in the past. But the best? That's here, and now. The worst you saw from newspaper clippings and video footage. The best took you on a picnic and ate an ice cream sundae with you. That's the Cyril Sneer I want to be and the one you deserve."

Sadly, Mrs. Pig looked down. She didn't want to make eye contact just now. "But how can I be sure?" she asked, more than a hint of dejection in her tone.

Cyril looked away awkwardly. "You can't. Not without sticking around to see for yourself." He took her hands, forcing them to one again make eye contact. "Can you do that for me?"

"Oh, Cyril." Mrs. Pig gave his hands a gentle squeeze. Then she let go. "I just can't. I'm sorry."

Cyril's ears drooped.

She looked back up at him. "But I'll come back. In three months, I'm going to come and visit my sons again. And they'll write to me every week, and they'll tell me everything that goes on in their lives. And before the visit is over... I'll know." She kissed him on the nose, definitely a big step up from the beginning of the conversation. "Goodbye, Cyril. Be the best aardvark you can be." She turned around and rejoined the now short line of boarders, and in a moment was gone."I'll be here for you, Suey Ellen!" Cyril called after her.

Then he was discreetly escorted out of the terminal by security.

When Cyril got home, everyone was walking on eggshells. He didn't say a word and his face was stern. Not angry, not sad. Stern. What did stern mean? Cedric and the pigs weren't sure if he was about to explode or have a breakdown.

Cyril was stalking down a hallway. The pigs were standing in a huddle halfway down. As Cyril approached them, there was a minor scuffle which ended with the other two pushing Floyd up to the boss. "He's got something to say to you," said Lloyd.

Cyril looked down at Floyd.

"Uh... Floyd stammered. "Um- that is- I..."

Cyrl blew a cloud of smoke down at him. "Apology accepted," Cyril said gruffly, then pushed the pig out of the way. Floyd coughed the cigar smoke out of his face.

The pigs looked at each other. None of them believed he was being honest. Floyd called after him, "So are you and Mom-" but the other pigs clapped their hands over his mouth.

"Ask her yourself," Cyril called back. "You do remember to write to her... right?"

"Oh, yes sir, yes sir!"

"Good. And don't you dare leave anything out!"

At the Evergreen Standard, Ralph was elated. He was doing a write-up of Midas's trial and sentencing. Including serious prison time. Apparently, his multiple attorneys weren't nearly as good as Linus, or at least that's what Linus was hanging around the Standard saying. The fact that the pigs had been less involved than Midas was might have had something to do with it, though.

In any case, when Ralph looked over this issue of the standard, it was something he could be proud of. "This is real news," he said. "The stuff the forest needs to know."

"I agree," said Melissa, looking at it over her husband's shoulder. "Glad we steered free of gossip reporting on the drama at the party?"

"Very," said Ralph.

"You were right. This is the paper the Evergreen Forest needs."

"And I probably learned an important lesson about getting all the facts and not assuming, or something," said Bert. "It'll go great in my next column for Bert Speaks!" Bert put a fresh piece of paper in the typewriter. "I'm gonna finish this quick, Ralph, me and Cedric still need to finish that sled. I'm meeting him at the clubhouse."

Linus Mustela put his arm around Ralph. "Yeah, this issue really came together. I especially like the advertisement section. Where my ad is."

"Yeah, we'll be running it all week," said Ralph, easing out from Linus's touch. "You don't have to hang around here."

"Yeah, I know. It's just such a nice place," said Linus. "The smell of ink, the thump of the press as it prints each new issue... It's just really great. It really is."

"Really," said Ralph. "We're trying to get work done. You're in the way. You need to leave."

Linus looked at Ralph for a minute with an empty grin on his face. Then his head sunk. "I have nowhere to go," he said sadly.

"Well... get out and meet people. Try the Blue Spruce Café."

"Maybe I will," said Linus, stroking his chin in a most thoughtful manner. "Until then, I bid you racoons good day." He bowed his long body low, and then backed out of the office.

Ralph leaned close to his wife and whispered, "Make sure you double lock the doors on the office tonight, honey. I don't want him crashing under a desk."

As soon as Mrs. Pig got home, she opened up all the windows in her house. It had been shut up for weeks, and even though she'd had neighbors over to water her plants and run a dustrag over the mantlepiece, nothing could wake up a home the same way that living in it could. Over the next few days she turned all the mattresses, washed all the quilts and re-made all the beds, re-stocked her pantry which had been emptied of expiring goods before her trip, and generally gave the house a good top-to-bottom clean. She loved the old house. Or rather, the new house which she built to look like the old house. It was practical, and cozy.

The day that she finished the cleaning, when the house was fully broken in again, she received a letter from the Evergreen Forest. "My boys," she said affectionately as she brought it into the family room, sat down in her favorite floral easy chair, and opened it. There were two letters inside. One was the usual description of what the pigs had been up to. It talked a lot about their community service work, told a few funny stories from work, and assured that they were eating right and getting enough sleep. It was signed by all three of the pigs.

The other letter was different. It was in different handwriting (the pigs group-wrote the letters out loud, but Lloyd always did the actual writing because he had the best penmanship by far.) could tell it wasn't like the others as she started to read.

Dear Mom,

I'm writing you this letter of my own free will, and not because the boss told me to. You can tell he doesn't know about this letter because I'm calling him A BIG STINKING BOOGER and I'm still alive to finish this.

Mrs. Pig chuckled to herself.

I wanted to say I'm sorry. I never should have tried to make you and the boss break up, and I feel really bad about it. I still don't like you two together, but your my mom and I want you to be happy. Also I didn't show you any of the clips where the boss was nice to us, like when he thought we got locked in his vault and he got really upset because he thought it was his fault. Or when he hired us back after we shredded alot of his money by accident. He didn't have to but I think he likes us.

And he says those things but he doesn't mean them the way other people do when they call us pigs bacon or ham. He's from a different generation though. I think Master Cedric is going to explain to him why it's not okay to say those things anymore. He didn't mean anything by it.

If Mrs. Pig had a nickel for every time she'd heard that excuse, she wouldn't need to go to any more classic car shows. Still, she'd heard those words enough to know when they were spoken out of actual malice directed at the species, or just plain ignorance of how cruel it really was. Ignorance was far more tolerable than malice, especially when the guilty party made an effort to understand why what he did was wrong rather than just saying, "You pigs are so sensitive! Why do you let it bother you?" They didn't know what it was like, growing up as a pig.

Cyril didn't seem to be using the insults as anything other than an equivalent to "moron" or "idiot." Which, while far from nice, wasn't nearly as bad as... certain other insults. Cyril had a short fuse, and her boys had a long match like you use to light a grill. All she wanted from him was a little patience and understanding when it came to her sons.

"Despite everything," Mrs. Pig mused, "he keeps my boys around." They tried hard. She knew they made mistakes; they always had. Cyril yelled at them because he had an anger problem, but he kept them around because... well, what do you think?

Cyril was trying. He was really, really trying. But she couldn't be with someone that was only nice when he was in front of her, because a man who's only nice in the company of someone he wants to like him is not a nice person.

Anyway I have to go now. We're working a lot of hours now with the community service and our regular job. We're still saving up for that stereo. Maybe the boss will finally give us that raise he keeps promising for us.

XOXO

Floyd

Mrs. Pig smiled looking over the two letters. "Just keep sending me letters like these, boys," she said softly. "Keep telling me that he's doing his best, and I'll go back to the Evergreen Forest to stay."