“With all due respect, Mr. President, I have to remind you that the fat 
cats are not to be taken lightly.  Have you ever met one of them?”

“Uh ... I’m not sure.  But I’ve seen one.  I think.”

“I take it you’ve seen one at a distance?”

“I don’t remember,” the ass said, a little begrudgingly; again impressed 
with the snake’s intuition, for she was exactly right:  he had never seen 
a fat cat up close.  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“A great deal, I’m afraid.  Seeing them at a distance—only hearing about 
them second-hand—can’t possibly enable you to estimate their strength.  
If you saw one up close you’d know what I mean.  They are very powerful 
animals.  Ultimately they have a lot more influence in this forest than 
even you.”

“But I’m the President!”

“I understand that, sir,” the snake said, in a subdued, deferential, 
soothing manner.  “And so do the fat cats.  It’s not as though they don’t 
have any respect for your office.  They do, a great deal—though only, I 
confess, to the degree that they think it will help them get what they 
want.  You mustn’t forget, sir, that however much we animals have 
organized into a government, we are still living in a forest and are 
still bound by the Law of Nature, and that means survival of the 
fittest—the end justifies the means—might is right—etc. etc. etc.  When 
you come right down to it, the only real rulers are those animals who can 
take what they want through sheer force.  And with all due respect to 
you, sir, I might also mention that one or two determined fat cats could 
even take you down.”

“What do you mean, ‘take me down’?”

“I mean pounce on you, sink their fangs into your throat, and tear you 
apart—in short, assassinate you.”


THE POLITY OF BEASTS

The most politically incorrect book of its time.