It's taken two months, but at long last Percy shows early signs of calming down.
1. He's not attacked my head in several weeks.
2. He only chews two plants at the moment (the apartment's Plexiglas windows might contribute to that).
3. I occasionally catch him in a nap without spending the prior four hours vigorously playing with him.
4. Random clawings are done, perhaps due to my promise the take away his front claws if he continues the swipes and prodding in the pre-dawn hours.
He still loves the countertops, though he discovered not to take cold stove heating coils for granted.
In his escape attempts, he progressed no further than the second-floor landing. Every time I return, he stands atop the couch, desperate for a glimpse or scent from beyond the chilly stairwell.
Any day now, I expect his "neutered housecat" belly to drop. Regular food still marvels the skinny bugger; he eats with the voracity of something canine.
But the little manipulator still has his moments. When the beasts' eyes gently bulge from its cocked head, I almost want to stay.
However, my yet-to-heal hands convince me of better luck outside
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