The Cat Who Couldn’t Lie

Rory was a cat of simple principles. He hunted when he was hungry and rested when he was tired. His honesty was as sharp as his claws. One evening, a sly fox named Reynard cornered him. "Rory, my friend," the fox began, his voice slick as oil. "I have a proposition. The farmer has accused me of stealing his chickens. If you tell him you saw a badger near the coop, I will grant you a lifetime supply of the plumpest mice in the land." Rory looked the fox in the eye, his gaze unwavering. He thought of the endless feasts, the life of ease. But then he thought of himself. "I am a hunter, Reynard," he said, his voice calm but firm. "My nature is to stalk and pounce, not to twist the truth for personal gain. I am what I am, and that is not a deceiver." Unbeknownst to them, a small mouse had overheard their conversation from a nearby bush. The news of Rory’s refusal spread like wildfire through the forest floor. The mice, who had always lived in fear of cats, saw in Rory something they could trust. They began to see him not as a predator, but as a guardian of the forest’s unwritten laws. In a gesture of respect, they formed a protective circle, warning him of dangers and even leaving him offerings of seeds and berries. Rory never went hungry, not because of a fox’s deceitful promise, but because his integrity had earned him the most unexpected and loyal of allies.