As a result, he can take whatever liberties he chooses! One never knows what he will do next: he tackles things which no ordinary cat would dream of attempting; all his brothers and sisters, except Tiny, fight shy of him.... As soon as they see him they shriek out “Fiew!” And “fiew” is the cat language for “madness.”
Every morning and evening he takes his usual walk. Unseen and unheard, he approaches his quarry, and before the luckless mouse or bird dreams he is near, he is upon it with a spring. He never plays with his victim, but disposes of it at once. Not until late in the morning does he return home, for he never goes to rest except on a full stomach.
Just as Big is the scourge of all birds living in the field, so is Black the scourge of all those living in hedge or wood. He wanders from tree to tree, and not even the densest thicket can resist his progress. He glides through the thorny, jealous heart of a hawthorn copse like a panther, insensate and invulnerable. Tears in skin or snout please him and urge him to greater efforts; it is as if his body cannot feel pain. Black as the branch itself, he lies stretched at full length, searching out the little birds’ homes—and once he catches a glimpse of wings settling in hiding-place or treetop, he never rests satisfied until he has made closer, thorough investigation.
But the old crow defies his strength and skill. It plays him all manner of tricks, and uses every imaginable opportunity to bespatter him with the foulest language.
One day it added to these an unspeakable insult!
It is early dawn.... All the birds are still half asleep, and flutter clumsily as they flee from his path. Even the lark makes such a din in rising that Black gives quite a jump.
He arrives with a young rat in his mouth at the entrance of the village wood, when suddenly his old enemy the crow attacks him in his usual unexpected, disconcerting manner.
He drops the rat for a moment and makes a foolhardy dash at the bird; but it merely spreads its wings and, floating leisurely sideways a short distance, settles on a big stone....
He would just run over there and shift the ugly devil!
His temper begins to get the better of him and he becomes more and more foolhardy; the rat must look after itself for a bit, while he gives that beast a real scare for once in its life! He races like a mad thing after the bird, from grass tuft to mound, from stone to stone—and when the cunning old crow has tempted the inexperienced hot-head far enough away, it flaps back over his head and bags the spoil of war.