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over on his back and kicking with delight, and pretending to bite my ankles.

He was by this time the size of a full-grown retriever, and when I took him out for
walks, people on the road would give us a wide berth. When he pulled hard on his
chain, I had difficulty in keeping up with him. His favourite place in the house was the

drawing room, and he would make himself comfortable on the long sofa, reclining there
with great dignity, and snarling at anybody who tried to get him off.

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 Mahmud’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 Pekinese. 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 Mahmud about the house with what looked like villainous

intent, Grandfather decided it was time to transfer him to a zoo.
The nearest zoo was at Lucknow, two-hundred miles away. 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 only too glad to
receive as a gift a well-fed and fairly civilized tiger.

About six months later, when my grandparents were visiting relatives in Lucknow,
Grandfather took the opportunity of calling at the zoo to see how Timothy was getting on.
I was not there to accompany him, but I heard all about it when he returned to Dehra.

Arriving at the zoo, Grandfather made straight for the particular cage in which Timothy

had been interned. The tiger was there, crouched in a corner, full-grown and with a
magnificent striped coat.

“Hello Timothy!” said Grandfather and, climbing the railing with ease, he put his arm
through the bars of the cage.

The tiger approached the bars, and allowed Grandfather to put both hands around his
head. Grandfather stroked the tiger’s forehead and tickled his ears, and, whenever he
growled, smacked him across the mouth, which was his old way of keeping him quiet.

It licked Grandfather’s hands and only sprang away when a leopard in the next cage
snarled at him. Grandfather “shooed” the leopard away, and the tiger returned to lick

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