Page 48 - English_Spark_8

Timothy had clean habits, and would scrub his face with his paws exactly like a cat. He

slept at night in the cook’s quarters, and was always delighted at being let out by him
in the morning.

‘‘One of these days,’’ declared Grandmother in her prophetic manner, we are going to

find Timothy sitting on Mahmoud’s bed, and no sign of the cook except his clothes and
shoes!’’

Of course, it never came to that, but when Timothy was about six months old a change

came over him; he grew steadily less friendly. When out for a walk with me, he would
try to steal away to stalk a cat or someone’s pet dog. Sometimes at night we would hear

frenzied cackling from the poultry house, and in the morning there would be feathers
lying all over the verandah. Timothy had to be chained up more often. And finally,

when he began to stalk Mahmoud about the house with what looked like villainous
intent, Grandfather decided it was time to transfer him to a zoo.

Reserving a first class compartment for himself and Timothy–no one would share a
compartment with them. Grandfather took him to Lucknow where the zoo authorities
were too glad to receive as a gift a well-fed and fairly civilised tiger.

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