The thing about Wick is that for a while, he was perfect. 

Sweet in that dangerous kitten way that tricks you into believing you’ve somehow been chosen by the universe. He followed people around, curled up wherever warmth existed, and looked at everyone with those huge innocent eyes that made every bad decision instantly forgivable. 

For months, he was pure charm wrapped in fur. 

And then he hit six months old. 

That was the exact moment the tiny sweet kitten we knew apparently packed a bag, vanished into the night, and left behind a tiny furry supervillain fueled entirely by hormones and bad intentions.