Percy's song (or scream, depending on the moment)

So finally, I write about the six-pound beast roaming my apartment, trying to share in my dinner, spreading potting soil on the carpet, killing plants softly with its claws (killing them softly) and demonstrating no fear for splashed water.

Part of the delay - the non-frustrating part- was a name, and after a few sputtered on the lips, I arrived at Percy, for any number of reasons,the most important being that she's damned persistent. No matter how many times I set it on the ground while I'm washing dishes, the cat will jump right back up every time.

Persistence ... Percy ... no? Well, I'm out of ideas. Say it's for the poet Shelley instead. Or novelist Walker Percy. Any of them work, or none of them. This time, the name stays.

I think the beast is young and still capable of learning ... as much as any cat accustomed to living outdoors can in a few hundred square feet.

If not, all I have to do is open the door - to the pet carrier, and any number of people will be willing to succeed the rubble of my attempt as owning a pet.