I was prompted by this post (which has a lovely picture of the little pets) to resurrect a sonnet I wrote for a friend fighting a losing battle with the Dust Bunnies, who had lined themselves up along the middle of the bed just out of reach of the vacuum cleaner, where they had grown to gigantic proportions:
They lurk in secret places all unseen,
And underneath your bed they breed like rabbits.
Although you scrub and rub and sweep and clean,
All undeterred they cultivate their habits.
They snuggle in neat rows beyond the reach
Of vacuum-cleaner, mop or feather-duster,
And playing hide-and-seek in every breach
They manage to evade the Bunny Buster.
So very, very shy they don’t appear
Until your house-proud guests have come to tea,
And then, like fluffy kittens creeping near,
They greet them with great hospitality.
Alas, to crown it all, while you’re asleep,
They grow and metamorphose into SHEEP*!
*Hence their other name: Sluts’ wool