“I was the head-cat in the village,” says he to himself.  “If all goes well, I shall be head here too.”  And he walked along as if he were the Tzar himself.

Well, he walked on and on, and he came to an old hut that had belonged to a forester.  There was nobody there, nor had been for many years, and the old tom-cat made himself quite at home.  He climbed up into the loft under the roof, and found a little rotten hay.

“A very good bed,” says he, and curls up and falls asleep.

When he woke he felt hungry, so he climbed down and went off in the forest to catch little birds and mice.  There were plenty of them in the forest, and when he had eaten enough he came back to the hut, climbed into the loft, and spent the night there very comfortably.

You would have thought he would be content.  Not he.  He was a cat.  He said, “This is a good enough lodging.  But I have to catch all my own food.  In the village they fed me every day, and I only caught mice for fun.  I ought to be able to live like that here.  A person of my dignity ought not to have to do all the work for himself.”

Next day he went walking in the forest.  And as he was walking he met a fox, a vixen, a very pretty young thing, gay and giddy like all girls.  And the fox saw the cat, and was very much astonished.

“All these years,” she said—­for though she was young she thought she had lived a long time—­“all these years,” she said, “I’ve lived in the forest, but I’ve never seen a wild beast like that before.  What a strange-looking animal!  And with only one ear.  How handsome!”

And she came up and made her bows to the cat, and said,—­

“Tell me, great lord, who you are.  What fortunate chance has brought you to this forest?  And by what name am I to call your Excellency?”

Oh! the fox was very polite.  It is not every day that you meet a handsome stranger walking in the forest.

The cat arched his back, and set all his fur on end, and said, very slowly and quietly,—­

“I have been sent from the far forests of Siberia to be Head-forester over you.  And my name is Cat Ivanovitch.”

“O Cat Ivanovitch!” says the pretty young fox, and she makes more bows.  “I did not know.  I beg your Excellency’s pardon.  Will your Excellency honour my humble house by visiting it as a guest?”

“I will,” says the cat.  “And what do they call you?”

“My name, your Excellency, is Lisabeta Ivanovna.”

“I will come with you, Lisabeta,” says the cat.

And they went together to the fox’s earth.  Very snug, very neat it was inside; and the cat curled himself up in the best place, while Lisabeta Ivanovna, the pretty young fox, made ready a tasty dish of game.  And while she was making the meal ready, and dusting the furniture with her tail, she looked at the cat.  At last she said, shyly,—­

“Tell me, Cat Ivanovitch, are you married or single?”