Irene likes to teach me mathematics calculations, probably seeing that as a way I can prove myself a very likeable parrot, which I honestly don't think I am, but apparently she does.

She spends many hours a day repeating the difficult formulas and trying to push those concepts into my head, from simple addition to subtraction and counting those orange cubes. I dislike this subject not any less than how a student hates math, although I'm quite quick learning it by heart.

"How many cubes are there, Alex?" She points at the usual block tray, today obviously more in number. I stare at the ridiculous motionless stuff and count them. Two of the light orange cubes, three green cuboids, so two plus three is...

"Five." I sing, and she smiles, praising me with her often spoken 'good boy'. That's the best, or the only good thing about these mathematics: she asks many questions, I frequently get the right answer, and she will reward me with things I really like.

Irene pulls the try away from my sight, and I can hear her mixing the colored cubes again, creating another mess to calculate.

"How many orange are there, Alex?" She puts the tray under me, and so I stare into it and count the sunset blocks.

"Four." I say, feeling bored by this funny game.

"Good job. And how many red?"

"Two." I solve her math question.

"How many in total?" So, the addition is four plus two.

"Six." I reply.

She mixes loudly, and after about a minute the tray appears again. This one, one yellow and three blue cubes, is as easy and simple as everything else this math game leads me too. There is nothing in five, and I like five above all other numbers, by its sound. I like to sing the funny 'five' whenever I get sleepy with the trays and cubes. But five is not here.

"What color three?" Irene starts to ask in another questioning form, but I'm totally bored with this always game she repeatedly play with me.

"Five." I squeak, as in I'm expecting a number five of something.

"What color three?" She insists on asking the same question over again, while I'm still singing for 'five'.

"Fine. What number fiver?" Irene finally surrenders and says.

"None!" I raise my tone as I angrily complain for the lack of my favorite number, and partly for my calculation boredom. I heard Irene says this sometimes to her close friend who often visit us, when she jokes about her empty fridge. 'None' represents zero, I concluded from that.

Irene looks both amazed by me and interested in my mad behavior. She gives me a broad grin and a much longer and more excited praise than usual. I think she likes me saying the new word 'none'. Now I like the word. I think I'll try like this math, too.