He called it May.

The tiny creature lived in his pocket and desk and shared his bed at night.

It would sit on the off page of his book whilst he studied and comb its little whiskers and brush its tail in perfect contentment.

Every one marveled at the affection of his pet and at the control he had over it.

Paul would let it loose in the woods, it would run up a tree and at his call, "Come May," it would return at once and with a chuckle drop into his pocket.