We would call him Thud
               Completely solid
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
                                                             the floorboards.
       My house rhino.

Thud is small
        He feeds on four leaf clovers and
                                                       Bonsai trees.
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.)