The Luxury Walnut Sedan

Cyril was not your average "run-up-the-tree" rodent. He was a mechanical visionary who had spent the entire summer gutting a premium jumbo walnut and outfitting it with a rubber-band engine and four bottle-cap wheels. The Nut-Mobile featured a custom pine-needle steering wheel and a "remote" made from a bent paperclip and a piece of quartz. It was the envy of the park, or at least it was until Cyril decided to park it near the "Great Leaf Drifting Zone" while he went to investigate a suspicious-looking piece of discarded crust.

The Remote-Control Chaos

When Cyril returned, his shiny brown vehicle was buried under ten tons of autumn debris. Panic-stricken, he pulled out his quartz remote and started frantically clicking the paperclip. "Beep-beep! Where are you, baby?" he chattered. Suddenly, a pile of leaves began to shake violently. Cyril cheered, thinking his car was surfacing, but instead, a very large, very grumpy toad emerged. The toad was vibrating rhythmically because Cyril’s "high-tech" remote frequency was actually perfectly tuned to the toad’s inner ear, making the poor amphibian do a series of involuntary, jerky breakdance moves.

The Toad-Bot 5000

"Oh, come on!" Cyril squeaked, clicking the remote harder. Every time he pressed the button to "Reverse," the toad hopped backward into a birdbath. When he pressed "Turbo," the toad let out a confused ribbit and accidentally launched itself onto a low-hanging branch. Cyril, convinced his car was somehow inside the toad, began chasing the poor creature around the oak tree, trying to find the "ignition" behind the toad’s left eye. The park became a scene of pure slapstick as a frantic squirrel "drove" a bewildered toad through a series of flowerbeds and over a sleeping dachshund.

The Honk from the Heaps

Just as Cyril was about to give up and try to "hotwire" a passing beetle, a tiny, muffled honk echoed from a different pile of leaves near the park bench. He realized with a start that he’d been pointing his remote in the wrong direction the whole time. He dove into the mulch, paws flying, and finally unearthed the Nut-Mobile. It was perfectly intact, though a bit dusty. He hopped into the cockpit, threw the rubber-band engine into gear, and zoomed off just as the "remote-controlled" toad finally stopped vibrating and gave him a look of profound, watery judgment.

The Valet Lessons

Cyril eventually learned his lesson about parking in high-traffic foliage areas. He installed a "GPS" (a long, bright red piece of yarn tied to the bumper) so he’d never lose his ride again. As for the toad, it became the only amphibian in the city with a sudden, inexplicable talent for popping-and-locking. Cyril still drives his walnut shell with pride, but he’s much more careful about where he points his quartz remote—mostly because he’s pretty sure the local crows are starting to look like they’d be even harder to "steer" than a toad.