Part 1.
Styx was a pretty black kitten with a wonderful life. He had a comfortable house to live in and a bid puffy cushion of his very own to sleep on. He got three or four or five tasty meals every day. He played in a pleasant garden whenever he wanted to. He had a nice family of human who loved him.
Styx was a very happy kitten, right? Wrong! He was a very unhappy kitten.
Why? Because of his tail. It was black, like the rest of him, but, instead of being fluffy all over and rounded at the tip, it was thin and feathery and came to a point. Worst of all, it didn’t behave properly. When Styx was annoyed, the tail sat still and stiff, instead of flicking back and forth. When Styx felt confident, the tail curled over his back, instead of sticking straight up in the air. When Styx was afraid – which didn’t happen very often – the tail went down between his hind legs, instead of bristling out all over the way it should. And when Styx was happy – which happened less and less – the terrible tail, all by itself, would begin to… wag!
Styx tried to teach his tail some manners, he really did. Whenever the tail did the wrong thing, he would pounce on it. He would hold it down, or beat it with his paws. He would even bite it, which hurt him more than it hurt the tail. None of this did any good at all: the tail simply would not behave! And when they saw him fighting with it, Styx’s people would laugh.
Finally, Styx became so unhappy with his terrible tail that, very early one morning, he decided to go looking for a good one.
Across the garden, out through the back fence, and into the woods went Styx.
Part 2
There, sitting on a low branch, chewing on an acorn, sat a little red squirrel.
“Hello, squirrel,” said the kitten.
“Hello, kitten,” the little red squirrel answered.
“Nice tail you have there,“ said Styx. “It’s fluffy all over, with a wide brush at the tip, and very big for such a small animal. Maybe a tail like would suit me.”
“Yes,” said the squirrel, “it is a good tail. It helps me balance when I leap from branch to branch and tree to tree.”
“Mine does that too,” Styx admitted, “though I only ever leap from the sofa to the window-sill.”
“Also,” the squirrel added, tucking his hands in close to his body, “I can pull my tail right up over my head, like this.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“My tail protects me from the rain and cold wind.”
“Oh,” said Styx. “I don’t need a tail to protect me from the weather. When it’s rainy and cold, I go into my comfortable house and find a dry lap.”
“Lucky you!” said the squirrel.
“No, I’m not,“ answered Styx. “My people are always laughing at me.”
“Well,” said the squirrel, “you are kind of funny.”
Then the little red squirrel stopped talking, pulled his fluffy tail over his head and scrunched down in a tight bundle, as close to the branch and small as he could possibly get.
“It was only a bird,” Styx told him when the shadow of wings had passed by.
“Only a bird?” said the squirrel. “That was and owl. Owls hunt and eat small animals like me.”
“That’s terrible,” said Styx, “I don’t envy you.”
Then he continued his journey.