Leo to His Mistress

DEAR Mistress, do not grieve for me
Even in such sweet poetry.
Alas! It is too late for that,
No mistress can recall her cat;
Eurydice remained a shade,
Despite the music Orpheus played;
And pleasures here outlast, I guess,
Your earthly transitoriness.

You serious denizens of Earth
Know nothing of Elysian mirth.
With other shades I play or doze,
And wash, and stretch, or rub my nose.
I hunt for mice, or take a nap
Safe in Iphigénia’s lap.
At times I bite Achilles’ heel
To learn if shadow heroes squeal,
And, should he turn to do me hurt,
I hide beneath Cassandra’s skirt,

But should he smile, no creature bolder,
I lightly bound upon his shoulder,
Then leap to fair Electra’s knee,
Or scamper with Antigone.
I chase the rolling woolen ball
Penelope has just let fall,
And crouch when Meleager’s cheer
Awakes the shades of trembling deer.
I grin when Stygian boys, beguiled,
Stare after Helen, Ruin’s child;
Or, should these placid pastimes fail,
I play with Cerberus’s tail.
At last I purr, and sip and spatter
When kind Demeter fills my platter.

And yet in spite of all of this,
I sometimes yearn for earthly bliss,
To hear you calling ‘Leo!’ when
The glorious sun awakens men,
Or hear your ‘ Good-night, Pussy ’ sound
When starlight falls on mortal ground;
Then, in my struggles to get free,
I almost scratch Persephone.