Wick is our sleek, moody house cat. Long and lean like one of those ancient Egyptian statues—if those statues had a thing for warm laundry and judgmental silence. He moves like mist and stares like a disappointed professor. 

Then came Quigley. 

Less than a pound of Shih Tzu fluff, all snorts and stubby legs, looking like someone crossed a feather duster with a jellybean. He bounced into the house like he’d been chosen for a Disney sidekick role and thought Wick was his new mentor. 

Wick was… not amused.