We would call him Thud
With smooth and tough skin like rubber
A miniature hero
That curls at the end of my bed
He doesn’t wear a collar.
He is no cat.
My miniature hero is a baby soldier
His skin : his armour
And his eyes are his soul.
He may be small but he thunders on
My house rhino.
Thud is small
He feeds on four leaf clovers and
He lifts his padded feet and hits my china cup –
When will he overcome his addiction to Earl Grey?
But if Thud is here, I’m safe.
It’s just me and Thud.
He can drink my tea every morning.
(As long as he’s my doorstop by night.)