Catpig

I drew a cat for him,
at least that’s
what I thought.
He looked at me,
suspicious eyes
full of knowing,
wry smile.
Was I serious?
Yes,  I was,
but two year olds
are smart.
That’s not a cat, he said,
it’s a pig.
He belly-laughed,
snuggled his tiny frame
against my eager warmth;
a moment shared,
intimate trust,
contentment.

I’m rather glad it looked like a pig.