One day the cat met the fox in a forest, and she thought to herself, ‘He is clever and full of experience, so,’ 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 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 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 just one,’ replied the cat, modestly. ‘What art is that?’ asked the fox. ‘When the hounds are chasing 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 as well a sack-full of cunning. You make me sorry for you; come with me and I will teach you how to get away from the hounds.’ Just then a hunter with four dogs came. 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 despair! Had you been able to climb like me, you would not have lost your life.’