One year the granaries of Vijayanagara crawled with mice, and King Krishnadevaraya hit upon a royal solution: cats! Fine kittens were brought and one was handed to every courtier, along with a milk-giving cow from the royal herd, so that each cat might be raised strong on fresh milk. "In six months," declared the king, "we shall inspect the cats."
The courtiers pampered their kittens like princes. But in Tenali Rama's house, matters went differently. On the very first morning, he set before his kitten a bowl of milk fresh off the fire, still hissing hot. The greedy kitten thrust in its face, scalded its tongue, and leapt away yowling. From that day on, the mere smell of milk sent it fleeing to the rooftop. And so, morning and evening, the milk of the royal cow nourished Tenali's own children, while the cat lived contentedly — as cats had always lived — on the mice of the granary and scraps of the kitchen.
At the grand inspection, plump, glossy cats were paraded one by one. Tenali's cat came last — bright-eyed, quick, an excellent mouser, but lean as a whip. "Jester!" thundered the king. "Did my cow give no milk?" "Oceans of it, Your Majesty," said Tenali sadly, "but this strange creature refuses to touch milk. See for yourself." A bowl was brought. The moment it was set down, the cat arched, spat, and shot out of the hall.
The court sat stunned — a cat that fled from milk! Then the king's eyes narrowed at Tenali, who looked back with perfect innocence, and the truth dawned on him. He began to laugh. "A scalded cat dreads even cold milk — and a clever rogue turns even a royal decree to his family's dinner! Tell me, Rama, what was my scheme's flaw?" "Only this, Sire," said Tenali gently. "Mice fatten cats better than milk ever will — and hungry children need the milk more than either. Feed the children milk and let cats keep their proper trade: catching mice." The fine was waived; the cows stayed with the poor.