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.