There was no dispute over the ownership of Maxi, the Pom. He was mine for various reasons. Not failing in arithmetic finally was one of them. Boy, was I glad I battled with the decimals and fractions! Eight weeks old when Anna brought him home, Maxi was exactly like a soft toy with black glistening beads for eyes and a thick white coat, so thick that it matted if I didn't groom him every day and so white that Keshavan took an immediate dislike to him. I could understand the black monkey's jealousy but not what hit Psitta, my parakeet.

Sitting on my shoulder, she hissed at the lil' darling every time I rubbed my nose on his damp button of a breather or giggled when he licked my face with his baby pink tongue. As long as she merely scolded him, I kept quiet but the first time she flew into his face and sent him scampering under a chair I put her in a cage and taught her a lesson she never forgot. She cackled, flapped her wings and spoke gibberish when I hugged my new ward but she didn't resort to any more physical threat. Devil was too busy trying to break loose that, after the first growl, he largely ignored the newcomer. They were a study in contrast. Devil was tall, dark, lean and mean.  Maxi, my baby, was small, white, cuddly and a charmer.

"All babies are charmers," Anna warned. "Except perhaps newborn humans who sometimes look like Vijaya's budgie chicks. If you don't toilet train him, then you'll be in big trouble."

"Yes," my siblings added with great glee. "You'll scoop its poop and mop its pee! He poops, she scoops. He pees, she mops …" They conjugated in a sing-song chorus.

They were jealous of course, of my new pet but I began training him in right earnest. The time was just right. Maxi was old enough to be trained and I still had one month of vacation from school to teach him the basics of hygiene. Always a late riser, I now jump-started my day the moment Maxi stirred. Even before the poor dear knew what was happening I gathered him in my arms and rushed out of the house, went to the back yard and deposited him below a tree. He would stumble and wobble a couple of times then relieve himself under my sharp eyes. I then picked him up again and rushed into the house, desperate to use the loo myself.

Maxi's toilet training was a piece of cake. In all others, he was an average student, like me. He sat if I walked him back against a wall and held a biscuit right above his head. He ran to the stick I threw, picked it up and zoomed back but wouldn't part with it. I could never get him to balance himself on a ball, jump through a ring, walk on his hind legs or catch anything with his mouth. What he did master, however, was something I would never, ever have dreamt about - kill rats. He killed rats as if he was born to kill them. The massacre of destructive rodents was fine but his fierce sense of loyalty made him carry the limp, bleeding, torn vermin and lay it at my feet. I gagged but since it was my pet's doing, I had to dispose off the body. I dreaded the slightest noise that sent a shiver through him and tried to hold him back but he would wriggle vigorously, break free and take off to some dark corner of the house. Tins would tumble, trash would fly and cockroaches flee while Maxi, wagging his rear end like a flag in a squall, rummaged, chased and pounced on the little mouse which made big holes in the rice sacks.

Manni was so delighted with his killer instinct that she forgave him for hopping on to my bed and sleeping by my feet. It served another purpose. He followed me during the day and, since I was supposedly given to sleep walking, he followed me around at night as well.

Early one morning Anna woke up hearing someone open the front door. It was me. He thought I wanted to let Maxi out and was about to go back to sleep when he saw the milk can in my hand. He came quietly behind my back, turned me around and took me back to my bed. From that day on, our bedroom door was locked from the outside and the five of us were caged for the night. Come morning, an adult, usually our youngest aunt or uncle, threw the door open, pulled the bed sheets off our curling bodies and said sweetly, "Good morning, kids!"

That was the signal for Maxi to hop off the bed and begin yelping while turning in circles. I never waited to hear my siblings' curses. I rushed out of the house with Maxi barking joyously and leading the way, Psitta on my shoulder, fluttering and trying to maintain her balance. Some ten minutes later, a relieved Maxi would follow me indoors, happy that a new day had begun and he could hunt for all the rats that had scampered freely through the house in the darkness of the night. 
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