Less than a pound of Shih Tzu fluff when we brought him home—basically a dust bunny with ambition. Big eyes, tiny bark, and absolutely zero understanding of personal space. He wobbled right up to Wick one day, tail wagging like he was trying to take flight.
Wick’s response? Classic. One slow blink. No hiss. Just the silent judgment of a cat betrayed by the universe.
Their truce has been evolving ever since.
Wick still rules from my chair like it’s his throne. Quigley still thinks they’re...
Then came The Lap Incident.
Wick leapt gracefully onto my chair, aiming for his rightful throne—my lap. Only, surprise: Quigley was already there. Curled up. Snoring. Living his best life like he owned the place.
Wick froze mid-step, his paw hovering over Quigley like he was contemplating murder—or at least a very pointed protest nap. The look he gave me was pure betrayal. “Explain this nonsense.”
He didn’t jump down. No. That would’ve been too easy.
He sat on the arm of the chair, turned...
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…...
Tigra, our tortoiseshell cat with enough sass to run a small kingdom, had just turned one when she met Quigley. Her first year was spent ruling over Sammy, our sweet 6-pound brown and tan Yorkie, who never minded being bossed around. They were an odd but inseparable pair—until Sammy passed away. The house felt quieter after that, too quiet. Then Quigley came crashing in like a wind-up toy with no off switch. Tigra wasn’t sure what to make of him at first, but it didn’t take long before she...
Quigley was tiny as a baby—emphasis on was. When we first picked him up from the private seller, he looked like he might float away if you breathed too hard near him. The man swore up and down he’d stay under eight pounds. We believed him. Oh, how naïve we were. Fast forward six months, and Quigley—our not-so-toy-sized shih tzu—is now a solid 15 pounds of attitude who insists he’s actually a very small cat.