Canto I continued . . .

Spring was already peering

over a balcony of roses and wallflowers

and Flora with golden linen

smilingly cheered up the riverside.

Pots from Talavera welcomed late-spring

when Meowicus, a black and brown cat

had a sure warning from Meower

a cat from La Mancha, his squire,

that shapely Shoo-kitty was coming out

toward the sun

as a purple rose greets the morning

among the leaves of the greenish bed

so ruby red that it looks like a flame.

And with a sweet song

in Juan de Mena’s high style

she wooed the breeze.

Attentive to his page’s news Meowicus

(for fame woos from afar)

more than the rustles of skin

of the bell-like dress-

introduced by tailors and clothes sellers,

erudite masters in the taking of money-

he praised her beauty and grace

with such sweet measure,

asked for a horse

at which he was brought a she-monkey

according to the use of his country,

a captive in a war the cats and monkeys had fought.

He put on fine linen and shoes made

of two open thimbles

that he put on painfully because they were crooked,

a silver spoon for a sword,

a red cape in the French manner

made out of an old stocking

so equal, so lucid, so similar

that it would not be flattery

to say that Adonis, pardon Venus,

did not equal him in cleanliness and style.

With a hat made out of half a grapefruit

with a green feather in it

from a parrot slain by his claws

that said: Who goes there?”

a certain day though the king was coming

and it was Meowicus who was on the prowl.

For a leather jacket he found two halves of a glove

that he attached on the front and back

and a little girl’s lace for a collar.

The big cat was of a genteel character

and no less a suitor than a lover.

with white whiskers and a clear face

cheerful eyes, the color of diamond-emeralds

and atop the she-monkey he looked

like the knightly Orlando

that was coming to visit fair Angelica.

The haughty nymph, the damsel,

upon seeing the tomcat composed herself

in such a way that she transformed into a grave lady

licking herself like butter, the surface of her lips dry

and for fear of embarrassment

she covered her privates with her tail

She lowered her eyes to the ground

her own haughtiness her veil:

for a damsel must be virtuous

since the more composed

the more she is beautiful.

Then, Meowicus with light paws

thumping the Tetuan horse

-for ‘twas not Ironfoot nor Cockfoot-

galloped around four times

with other genteel chatter and niceties,

as a high demonstration of his desires.

And with his cap in his hand

he approached beau and courtier-like

When he told her of his love

she, with the colors that shame imprints

gave him a braid of her hair

and the too meowed with glee.

And with tender satisfied sighs

they shared their sentiments.