Poor Shyla handled it better than anyone. 

She’d be slowly making her way through the room while Wick orbited around her like an unhinged storm cloud, overflowing with chaotic teenage energy and terrible ideas. Somehow she stayed steady through all of it, carrying herself with the exhausted patience of someone who had already lived long enough to know insanity eventually burns itself out. 

Meanwhile, the rest of us were hanging on by a thread. 

That month felt endless. 

Then came the neutering appointment. 

And honestly? 

It was like somebody unplugged a tiny furry lightning demon from a wall socket. 

Not instantly perfect. Still Wick. Still dramatic. Still deeply committed to nonsense. 

But softer. 

The sharp edges disappeared first. 

Then the aggression faded. 

And underneath all that hormonal chaos, our sweet boy came back.