Solomon usually starts off the day with a warm up of sharpening his claws on my tool bag, followed by ripping up as much of my screen porch as he can manage before being removed. Then opening the lid on my baby fish tank and attempting to remove a few, knocking everything off my desk and onto the floor as he does it. If I attempt to leave the house without him he slips by me and dashes off into the forest with me swearing, wishing I had shoes on rather than slippers. There are glimpses of him dancing off, just within sight, meowing encouragement to me. Just about the time I am exhausted, covered in twigs and ticks, he allows me to catch him, purring happily as I carry him home. Once back he leaps up into the attic and throws down anything he can find, as long as it produces a shriek of protest from me. Packing peanuts are one of his favorites. Eventually I give in and take him for a walk or a kayak ride. All is peaceful until he requires an afternoon outing.
How Solomon likes to torture me