A drama inspired by a Saturday morning breakfast on the terrace.
(May Shakespeare forgive me!)
CHARACTERS :Malaquinha, the young and cool street cat of the neighbourhood;
Kitty, the young and most beautiful domestic cat of the neighbourhood;
With the appearance of Fluffinda, the old and meanest female cat of the neighbourhood;
Malaquinha
(coming
back from a fight)
He
jests at scars that never felt a wound.
[Kitty appears above on a tree.]
But soft, what light through yonder branches breaks?
It is the east and Kitty is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious Fluffinda,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her feline fur is but sick and grey,
And none but old stray cat do wear it. Cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O that she knew she were!
She miaows, yet she purrs nothing; what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.
I am too bold: 'tis not to me she purrs.
(...)
See how she leans her cheek upon her paw
O that I were some dirt upon that paw,
That I might touch that whiskers!
Kitty
Ay miaow!
Malaquinha
She miaows.
O, miaow again, bright feline, for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of cat's heaven.
[Kitty appears above on a tree.]
But soft, what light through yonder branches breaks?
It is the east and Kitty is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious Fluffinda,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her feline fur is but sick and grey,
And none but old stray cat do wear it. Cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O that she knew she were!
She miaows, yet she purrs nothing; what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.
I am too bold: 'tis not to me she purrs.
(...)
See how she leans her cheek upon her paw
O that I were some dirt upon that paw,
That I might touch that whiskers!
Kitty
Ay miaow!
Malaquinha
She miaows.
O, miaow again, bright feline, for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of cat's heaven.
(...)
Kitty
O Malaquinha, Malaquinha! wherefore art thou Malaquinha?
Deny thy pack and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a domestic cat.
Malaquinha
[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I miaow at this?
Kitty
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Street Cat.
What's Street Cat? It is nor paw, nor claw,
Nor whisker, nor tail, nor any other part
Belonging to a cat. O, be some other name.
What's in a name? That which we call a sardine
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Malaquinha would, were he not Malaquinha call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Malaquinha, doff thy name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee, (50)
Take all myself.
Malaquinha
I take thee at thy miaow.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptis'd;
Henceforth I never will be Malaquinha.
Kitty
What cat art thou that, thus bescreened in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?
Malaquinha
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Kitty
O Malaquinha, Malaquinha! wherefore art thou Malaquinha?
Deny thy pack and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a domestic cat.
Malaquinha
[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I miaow at this?
Kitty
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Street Cat.
What's Street Cat? It is nor paw, nor claw,
Nor whisker, nor tail, nor any other part
Belonging to a cat. O, be some other name.
What's in a name? That which we call a sardine
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Malaquinha would, were he not Malaquinha call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Malaquinha, doff thy name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee, (50)
Take all myself.
Malaquinha
I take thee at thy miaow.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptis'd;
Henceforth I never will be Malaquinha.
Kitty
What cat art thou that, thus bescreened in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?
Malaquinha
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Kitty
My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Malaquinha, and a Street Cat?
Malaquinha
Neither, fair pussy, if either thee dislike.
Kitty
How cam'st thou hither, miaow me, and wherefore?
The terrace trees are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my humans find thee here.
Malaquinha
With love's light wings did I o'erperch these trees, (70)
For wooden limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy humans are no stop to me.
Kitty
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Malaquinha
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their brooms. Look thou but sweet
And I am proof against their enmity.
Kitty
I would not for the world they saw thee here.
Malaquinha
I have night's fur to hide me from their eyes,
And, but thou love me, let them find me here;
My 9th life were better ended by their hate
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
(more
and more miaowing is following, but we will not report it all here, since translation from Miaowish to English got lost. We will just say that the story will end up in blood, with a lot of street fights, severe injuries and death, for the delight of all the humans desperately trying to sleep in the neighbourhood).
THE END
