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The animals
were imperfect,
long-tailed, dismal
in the head.
Little by little
they composed themselves,
becoming a landscape,
gaining spots, grace, flight.
The cat,
only the cat,
appeared complete
and proud:
born completely finished,
it walks alone and knows what it wants…

…O little
emperor without globe,
conqueror without country,
tiny tiger of the living room, sultan
groom of a sky
of erotic tiles,
the wind of love
in the open air
you demand
when you pass
and pose, placing
four delicate feet
on the floor,
sniffing,
doubting
every earthly thing,
since everything
is filthy
for the cat’s immaculate feet…

from Ode to the Cat (Oda al Gato) by Pablo Neruda
translation by Linh Dinh