Kill! Kill, kill, kill, kill! I screamed at our geriatric half-blind pooch.

He rolled over - in his own time - gave me a quizzical glance, burped, then went back to sleep.

So from this somewhat under-the-top reaction to my strident incitement, I am assuming he will not now be classified as a dangerous, savage or exotic pet. I can tell you one or two that do fall into that category though - and I'm delighted to see that the authorities are threatening to do something about them.

For instance, my cousin Reuben has one of the most ill-tempered and downright vicious canines ever to draw blood. He owns a psychopathic Chihuahua that has probably savaged more feet and ankles than a pair of Monte sandals.

He calls this sadistic little dog... wait for it: Sweetie. Never was a dog so unfortunately named. Reuben can't see it, of course. Despite bearing more scars and teeth marks than one of Mike Tyson's sparring partners, he insists he loves the evil little mongrel almost as much as he loves his wife. Actually, that's not saying much... but you know what I mean.

Believe me, as soon as the law requiring the owners of savage or unusual pets comes into being, I shall be registering Sweetie, trust me.

Another pet from hell is owned by one of my near neighbours. It is nominally a cat... a vast ginger thing with a stony, malevolent stare and evil intent. It seems to live atop the three-metre wall that divides our properties and spends its days... and especially its nights, winding-up our poor old dog and relieving itself all over our garden.

It is not dangerous, in the accepted sense of the word, but it is most certainly malignant. Every night without fail, whenever we put out our bedroom light and try to drop off to sleep, this malicious moggie will start.

At its worst, the noise it emits sounds awfully like a child screeching... at around the decibel level of an aircraft coming in to land.

I have tried shouting at it; it ignores me. I have thrown shoes (I actually lost one of a rather nice, expensive pair of trainers that way). It invariably sets every other dog in the neighbourhood off - including ours; so that most nights there is a cacophony of high-decibel animal noises.

I'm at my wits' end over this one and am thinking of hiring a Mafia hitman to take care of this fiendish feline.

Running it close in the disruptive pet stakes is a pet bird. In a flat opposite my residence lives an old lady who keeps a mynah bird. Was there ever a more evil breed? Miss Cutajar is in her late 70s, lives alone and - to the best of my knowledge - has led a blameless and unscattalogical life.

So where this bird has learnt its obscene vocabulary is a total mystery to everyone. It - the bird, that is - does not have a very extensive vocabulary, but the range of obscenities that emit from its beak are both vile and strident. The trouble is Miss Cutajar seems to have no idea what the creature is screaming.

I have watched her sit near its cage on the balcony smiling benignly and nodding sweetly to people passing in the street below with shock and disbelief written all over their faces. It's extraordinary.

I often see the parish priest emerging from the flats looking somewhat flustered, while from Ms Cutajar's balcony a stream of bright blue invective follows him down the street. I doubt whether he has ever raised the problem with the old dear. But as soon as the promised register of weird pets comes into being, that bird is going to be on it... trust me.

There used to be an old man who lived nearby who kept a pet rat about his person. It was said the creature had the run of the lining of his jacket. Like most rodents, it was a pretty unpleasant-looking critter and should most certainly have been either banned or registered. The old man died a year or so back, I don't know what happened to his rat. Maybe it's eking out an existence inside his shroud. If not, it too goes on the dangerous pets register.