The Cat Who Became a Woman

A man adored his cat to an insane degree:
How delicate, how darling, how delightful, she!
Her mew made such a melting music in his ears
That finally, by prayers and tears,
By sorcery, spells and magic charms
He wheedled Fate to bend its laws
And change a cat with fur and claws
Into a woman with legs and arms—
Whom then, Sir Fool personified,
That very day he made his bride,
For love had driven him as mad
As, earlier, affection had.
No beauty celebrated for
The amorous career she led
Ever pleased a lover more
Than this new bride her groom, new wed.
He sweet-talked her, she called him honey,
And so the two—hey, nonny, nonny!
He found in her no trace of cat,
Certain, as his delusion grew,
She was pure woman, through and through.
But when one night soon after that
Some mice made noises gnawing underneath their bed
Then instantly the wife assumed
A cattish crouch: the mice all fled.
The mice returned. Now she resumed
Her feline posture, as before
And this time pounced upon her prey,
For since she'd metamorphosed they
Were less inclined to fear her any more—
While they to her proved bait, whose source
Of power over her was nature's shaping force
That mocks at any chance once time enough has passed.
Emptied, the vessel smells; once made, the crease will last;
The wheel stays in its rutted track
What's done grows past undoing, nothing will change it back.
Strike nature with your pitchforks, take your whips to it,
You won't reform it, not one bit.
Advance together, sticks in hand,
It won't obey though you command.
Slam your door in its face when it comes to knock—
And nature climbs through windows you forgot to lock.

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