Belling the Cat

The plan was so good that the whole village agreed to it the moment they heard it. No one objected. No one asked to talk it over again. There was only one problem. The one it was aimed at had never heard of it, and to this day still has not.

It all began with a fear older than any mouse alive. From long ago until now, cats have eaten mice. The fear runs so deep that a newborn mouse already knows to fear the cat, and nobody has to teach it. It lies ready inside every mouse, as familiar as its whiskers and its tail.

So the whole life of a mouse is a life of listening. Under the floorboards and in the holes in the walls, the air smells of musty rice and damp earth. There the mice eat with their mouths but live by their ears. One creak overhead, one falling speck of dust, and the whole pack freezes, whiskers up, hearts pounding. Then they wait. Then they go back to eating.

Worst of all was Old Miu. That cat walked without a sound. His four paws were as soft as cotton. He could cross the yard so lightly that the dry leaves had no time to rustle. The mice only knew he had come when he was already standing right there.

The tale of mice who plan to hang a bell on a cat is known as one of Aesop's fables. It has been told in many countries since very long ago. But the Vietnamese telling has its own village of mice, with a council, ranks of rats, mice and shrews, and very polite rounds of passing the job along. Ôn Như Nguyễn Văn Ngọc wrote the story down in Vietnamese. He gathered old Vietnamese tales and fables, and this telling follows his words.

But even a worm will turn if it is trodden on long enough. Pushed again and again into the dark, one day the mice grew truly angry. They told one another that if they went on being afraid like this, there would be no end to it. So they decided to do something they had never done before. They formed a proper village of mice, with a council and with ranks from top to bottom, to plan how to stand up to the cat.

Everyone came that day. There was Chù the shrew, the one people always name in a saying: as smelly as a shrew. There was Nhắt the house mouse, tiny and quick on his feet. His busy, fussing ways became a saying too: as fidgety as a house mouse. And there was Elder Cống, the big sewer rat, plump and wobbling, his fur as sleek as if it had just been greased. He walked slowly and grandly, in the manner of an official of the village. His only flaw was that he loved to talk, and when he talked, he loved the sound of his own voice.

When that whole long-toothed village had gathered, Elder Cống cleared his throat and raised his voice.

"Friends and neighbors, that monster catches our kind not because it is any cleverer than we are. Heaven gave it only one gift, the gift of lurking and striking by stealth, of arriving without anyone hearing a sound. So let us buy a bell and tie it around its neck. From then on, wherever it goes, the bell will ring out ahead of it. We will hear the sound and know to run first. What could it do to us then?"

The village went quiet for a moment, then burst into cheers. Every one of them pushed up its snout and thumped its tail on the ground. They called the plan right and clever, and asked why no one had thought of it in all these generations. Some even shut their eyes. They imagined they could already hear the bell jingling in from the yard. They could almost see the whole mouse clan strolling about at ease in broad daylight. The council broke up in a happy buzz. Everyone felt they had just taken part in something great.

Then they really did get hold of a bell. It was a small round bell that rang at the slightest shake. The village set it down in the middle of the yard, and the council met for a second time.

This time there was only one question. Who would go and hang the bell on the cat?

The moment the question was asked, the whole village fell dead silent. That silence was even harder to bear than the silence when they heard the cat. Every one of them looked down and studied its two front paws, as if something very much worth seeing had just sprouted there.

At last Elder Cống spoke up, his voice as slow and grand as before.

"I have already come up with the plan. Besides, the village made me the great elder here, and everyone knows my rank. How would it look for someone of my standing to go running back and forth on an errand like this? Better that we send Nhắt. He is small and quick. One slip and he is there, one tie and it is done."

The whole village turned to Nhắt. He fidgeted for a while, then folded his arms and spoke very politely.

"Uncle Cống is quite right. If the village chooses me, I obey and dare not refuse. But, sirs, I too now have some rank in the village. I am no longer the errand boy I used to be. This task needs someone steady, slow but sure. I humbly think we should send Chù. He does not walk fast, but he is honest, and he does whatever he is told."

So the whole village turned another way. And there stood Chù, and after Chù there was no one left to pass it to.

Chù did not dare go against the village. He only hesitated, then spoke.

"Sirs, if the village sends me, I will go. I do not mind at all. There is just one thing. Before I could even tie the bell on the cat, the cat would have caught me."

At this the whole village roared with laughter, and at once they turned the saying about him back on him. "Cats only toy with plump ones like Uncle Cống, or chubby ones like Nhắt. But you smell so strong that no cat would bother coming near. Go on and don't worry. The cat won't lay a paw on you, so what is there to fear?"

Chù had nothing more to say, and he did not dare look up. He took the bell, and he went.

Out of the hole in the wall, Chù found the yard wide and open, so bright it stung his eyes. He walked in short steps, the bell hugged to his chest. He tried with all his might not to let it make a single sound. Then he heard the cat. It was just one very faint stir up ahead. Yet all four of his legs went weak, and the bell gave a tiny tremble because his paws were shaking.

He stood still for a long time. Behind him a whole village of mice was waiting, all present, all agreed, and all standing still. Chù thought of that village. Then he took a breath and stepped forward.

Old Miu saw him.

The cat did not leap, did not pounce, did not chase. He only looked. Then, slowly, he bared his teeth, and slowly he raised his claws so that Chù could see them clearly. That was all. But that was enough. Chù turned tail and ran. He ran all the way without looking back, straight into the hole in the wall. There he told the village that the cat would not, under any circumstances, let himself be belled.

At this news the whole village took fright too and scattered in every direction. The full council and the polite rounds of passing the job along were all gone in a flash. No one mentioned that brilliant plan ever again. Nor did anyone ask where the bell had fallen, which corner it lay rolling in, or whether it could still ring.

Out in the yard, Old Miu still walks about as on any other day, his four paws soft and silent. And inside the walls, to this very day, the mouse clan still sits with whiskers raised, listening for a footstep that never makes a sound.