You have to love them to sift their latrine,
The uric fragrance burning your nose and eyes
As you render their special place fresh and clean-
One of them watches, impatient, and sighs.
You have to be ready for sleep-rending howls
When one recovers his ragged cloth ball-
At twelve or two- shaking it with feral growls,
Boasting his prey up and down the hall.
You must be attentive- even at four-
If bowls are empty and bellies not full:
Rude rattling and scratching on the bedroom door
Has such a hypnotic, nerve-racking pull.
How apt the pharaohs decreed them divine,
While litter-box slaves were treated like swine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Haha! Nicely written and so humorous! I had a cat for 17-18 years and I remember all those looks so well! I will miss her dearly for the rest of my days. Thanks for the nice memories!