The drink got into her head and down into her toes and she began running and jumping about from one beer-barrel to the other, and to dance and tumble about on the shelves among the cups and mugs; she squeaked and squealed as if she were intoxicated.
“You must not carry on as if you had just come from the backwoods and make such a row and noise,” said the Town Mouse; “the master of the house is a bailiff, and he is very strict indeed,” she said.
The Country Mouse said she didn’t care either for bailiffs or beggars. But the cat sat at the top of the cellar steps, lying in wait, and heard all the chatter and noise. When the woman of the house went down to draw some beer and lifted the trap-door the cat slipped by into the cellar and struck its claws into the Country Mouse. Then there was quite another sort of dance.
The Town Mouse slid back into her hole and sat in safety looking on, while the Country Mouse suddenly became sober when she felt the claws of the cat in her back.
“Oh, my dear bailiff, oh, dearest bailiff, be merciful and spare my life and I will tell you a fairy tale,” she said.
“Well, go on,” said the cat.
“Once upon a time there were two little mice,” said the Country Mouse, squeaking slowly and pitifully, for she wanted to make the story last as long as she could.
“Then they were not lonely,” said the cat dryly and curtly.
“And they had a steak which they were going to fry.”
“Then they could not starve,” said the cat.