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Oliver the otter loved to float on his back and juggle shiny river pebbles. He was generally a content fellow, except for one peculiar notion: he was absolutely convinced he was a porcelain teapot in disguise. He believed his nose was the spout and his tail was the handle.

"Good morning, Oliver!" called Rhonda the river turtle, paddling by.

Oliver gave a grand, dignified sniff. "I am not 'Oliver,' madam. I am Steamer, the finest teapot in all the river. Please do not jostle the handle," he said, flicking his tail.

Rhonda hid a smile. "Oh, my apologies, Steamer. Are you ready for some tea?"

"Alas," Oliver sighed dramatically, "My spout seems to be completely jammed with fish-scraps. A terrible design flaw in this model, I must say."

One afternoon, a large, fluffy fox named Finn came to the riverbank, looking very glum. "Oh, dear," Finn moaned. "I was supposed to bring a fancy, antique teapot to a garden party, and I dropped it! What will I do?"

Oliver, floating nearby, instantly saw his chance. "Sir!" he called, paddling over. "I may not be antique, but I am certainly a teapot! I can come to your party!"

Finn blinked. "You're... an otter."

"A teapot otter!" insisted Oliver. "I'm excellent at floating, and my juggling skills are legendary."

Finn, desperate, agreed. At the garden party, Oliver floated in the birdbath, holding his "handle" tail up high. Everyone stared. Then, a caterpillar accidentally tumbled off a leaf and landed right on Oliver's "spout" nose.  Oliver sneezed with a mighty A-CHOO!, which sent a spray of clean river water right into a daisy pot that desperately needed watering.

"Marvelous!" cried the hostess. "An instant, self-watering flowerpot! The most useful teapot I've ever seen!"

Oliver, realizing that being a useful otter was more fun than being a jammed teapot, decided he would keep the name Steamer, but only on weekends.