The Fox and the Cat

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 through this dear
season?" 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, thou wretched
beard-cleaner, thou piebald fool, thou hungry mouse-hunter, what canst
thou be thinking of? Dost thou venture to ask how I am getting on? What
hast thou learnt? How many arts dost thou 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. Thou makest me sorry
for thee; come with me, I will teach thee 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 on 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."
