All the howling is singing

A handsome cat, strong, gentle and charming

Prowls along my brain as though in his own home

When he mews, we hardly hear

So tender and discreet is his tone

But whether his voice is mild or vexed,

It is always rich and deep

That is his special talent and his charm

This voice, which pearls and seeps

Down into the depths of my being

Expands in me like a harmonious verse

And delights me like a magic philter

It soothes the cruelest sufferings

And is filled with every ecstacy

It needs no language to capture the deepest meanings

There is no bow that can sweep my heart,

The perfect instrument, more richly drawing song

From even its most sensitive string,

Than your voice, o mysterious, strange cat,

In whom everything, as in an angel,

Is as subtle as it is harmonious

From his blonde and brown fur comes a perfume so sweet

That one night, I was caught in its balm

By having caressed it once, only once

He is the familiar spirit of the house,

Judging, presiding, inspiring all things within his empire

When my eyes are drawn, as by a magnet,

Toward my beloved cat

And I obediently look upon him,

I look into myself,

And I am amazed to see the fire of his pale pupils,

Bright lamps, living opals, hypnotically fixed on me