One cold stormy day a Goatherd drove his Goats for shelter into a cave, where a number of Wild Goats had also found their way. My gold!, O my gold!, cried the Miser, wildly, someone has robbed me! So he commanded that all animals with horns should leave his domains within twenty-four hours. To the Cat it was almost as if he already had a plump young Mouse under his claws, when an old Rat, who had had much experience with Cats and traps, and had even lost a part of his tail to pay for it, sat up at a safe distance from a hole in the wall where he lived. He was very angry to think that any animal that he chose for a meal, should be so brazen as to wear such dangerous things as horns to scratch him while he ate. Just then they heard a shout of Stop, thief! No, answered the honest Woodman, that is not my axe. The road led across a treeless plain where the Sun beat down fiercely. Instead of flying up to greet the first rays of the morning sun or to bathe in the rosy light among the floating clouds at sunset, he would have to walk the ground more encumbered and oppressed than any common barnyard fowl.
It all depends on the point of view, and who tells the story.