“Bah!” cried the Cat. “Honey indeed! I loathe the stuff. Now if you had a nice fat mouse...!”
“Happy thought,” said Reynard. “As it happens, I know a house close by where there are hundreds of mice, the fattest and sleekest creatures you ever saw in your life, and so tame that one can literally scoop them up by the score. I often catch a few myself when I am hungry and other game is scarce.”
“TAKE ME TO THIS HOUSE”
“Take me to this house,” said Tybert. “Tame or not, I’ll catch the mice if they are there. I love the creatures.” And he licked his lips and stretched out his paws.
Now Reynard had spoken the truth when he said that he knew a house where mice abounded, and it was true also that he often went there—not in search of mice, but of chickens. The last time he had paid a visit he had found that the farmer had put a string noose over the hole by which he was used to enter, but fortunately for himself Reynard had discovered it in time.
Towards this house he now led the unsuspecting Tybert, and having shown him the hole, bade him enter and take his fill of the mice. Tybert obeyed, but no sooner had he got his head through the hole than the trap was sprung, and there he was, caught. He gave a scream of pain and fear, and from behind Reynard answered mockingly: “Sing away, cousin. I love to hear your voice. But mind you don’t frighten the mice!” Then he took to his heels and ran back to his castle.
A minute or two later the farmer, having heard the Cat’s miaulings, arrived armed with a heavy stick. “Ah, you thief,” he cried, “I’ve got you at last, have I?” And he began to lay the stick on the Cat’s back with all his might. Tybert kicked and struggled, and managed at last to get free, but he was more dead than alive when he went limping back to the King’s Court.