Black Cat.

Rambling At The Bridge Head

Black Cat 

By Bulat Okudzhava.
Translated by Maria Bloshteyn

There’s a courtyard in our building,
that’s where you’ll find the back door,
and behind it lives a Black Cat –
ensconced here like some lord.
There’s a smirk behind his whiskers,
darkness shields him like a wall,
and this Black Cat remains quiet
while all others caterwaul.
He keeps smirking in his whiskers,
hasn’t caught a mouse of late,
catches us on our loose lips,
on a bit of tempting bait.
He does not request or order –
when his yellow eye burns bright,
every one of us forks over,
thanking him with all our might.
He won’t meow and he won’t purr –
he just gorges, drinks and gloats.
And he paws at dirty floorboards
like he’s clawing at our throats.
This is why the place we live in
is so dark and dreary still,
we should really hang a light bulb –
but can’t seem to foot the bill.