It happened that the cat met the fox in a forest, and as she thought to herself: “He is clever and full of experience, and much esteemed in the world,` she spoke to him in a friendly way. “Good day, dear Mr Fox, how are you? How is all with you? How are you getting on in these hard times?` The fox, full of all kinds of arrogance, looked at the cat from head to foot, and for a long time did not know whether he would give any answer or not. At last he said: “Oh, you wretched beard-cleaner, you piebald fool, you hungry mouse-hunter, what can you be thinking of? Have you the cheek to ask how I am getting on? What have you learnt? How many arts do you understand?` “I understand but one,` replied the cat, modestly. “What art is that?` asked the fox. “When the hounds are following me, I can spring into a tree and save myself.` “Is that all?` said the fox. “I am master of a hundred arts, and have into the bargain a sackful of cunning. You make me sorry for you; come with me, I will teach you how people get away from the hounds.` Just then came a hunter with four dogs. The cat sprang nimbly up a tree, and sat down at the top of it, where the branches and foliage quite concealed her. “Open your sack, Mr Fox, open your sack,` cried the cat to him, but the dogs had already seized him, and were holding him fast. “Ah, Mr Fox,` cried the cat. “You with your hundred arts are left in the lurch! Had you been able to climb like me, you would not have lost your life.`
the fox and the cat
