nice-looking, quiet cat from a neighbour in exchange for a little
tobacco, and settled down comfortably at home with the new cat in
front of the stove; and there he may be to this day, so far as I know.
My story does not bother with him, but only with the old tom-cat tied
up in the sack away there out in the forest.

The bag flew through the air, and plumped down through a bush to the
ground. And the old tom-cat landed on his feet inside it, very much
frightened but not hurt. Thinks he, this bag, this flight through the
air, this bump, mean that my life is going to change. Very well; there
is nothing like something new now and again.

And presently he began tearing at the bag with his sharp claws. Soon
there was a hole he could put a paw through. He went on, tearing and
scratching, and there was a hole he could put two paws through. He
went on with his work, and soon he could put his head through, all the
easier because he had only one ear. A minute or two after that he had
wriggled out of the bag, and stood up on his four paws and stretched
himself in the forest.

"The world seems to be larger than the village," he said. "I will walk
on and see what there is in it."

He washed himself all over, curled his tail proudly up in the air,
cocked the only ear he had left, and set off walking under the forest
trees.

"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.