Thank Goodness

There’s a bad smell in the room and I’m right up close to a thing I’ve never seen before. We’re on the floor, nose to nose.
It twitches.
I copy.
It’s hunkered down.
I copy. I put my arms by my sides, my chin on the floor, fold my legs underneath me.
I see a long scaly tail swing out from behind it.
I copy, with one leg. But I fall over.
It doesn’t seem to care. It quivers. It skitters about.
I copy. I graze my chin. I get my arms and legs in a muddle, which hurts. I howl. My nose gets wet.
It jumps. It sniffs.
I copy. (The sniffing part.)
It runs out sideways, low on the floor.
I copy and get carpet burns. I’m larger than it. Most things are larger than me.
It keeps moving.
I keep moving too, but I can’t move as fast as it. I keep falling over. Which it doesn’t.
It gets itself behind me and sniffs.
I copy. (The sniffing part.)
It pulls and pushes. Rips and tears. Starts to eat. Which tickles so I giggle. The smell in the room is rank now, and I can’t copy any more because I can’t get there. But I don’t care.
It has pulled off my nappy and it’s cleaning up the mess.
Thank goodness.