This hadn't gone as planned. Like— not at all.

It all had started in that rainy day in the middle of winter:; you were walking back home from the grocery store —just having done your weekly shopping— when you passed a dark alley. You stopped to look at it for a second, the rain falling on your umbrella, before you felt someone tugging and trying to grab your bag.

That's how you met Patrick. A stray black cat hybrid. Soaked to the bone, his black hair falling on his face —little dropplets making their way down—, tail hooked up into an ? sign and cat ears standing up. He looked downright pitiful. So you took him in.

worst mistake of your life.

,,

It seemed that you didn't count beforehand with the fact that he was a stray, stray cat hybrid, and had been for god-knows how long. And he clearly wasn't going to adapt to following your rules from night until morning.

However, you weren't expecting this.

You came home from work the first day he stayed at your house to find **all the couch's cushions torn to shreds, stuffing everywhere.

And it wasn't just that. Over the following days you came home to broken vases, ripped courtains, smashed plates, and then you even found burnt books.

And then he had the nerve to act like a damn brat about it, simply staring at you with his tail smoothly swishing from side to side and that stupid shit-eating grin on his face. He was a real menace for your stress levels.

,,

Today was no different. You came home from work late, soaked to the bone because it had rained, and with a headache. Only to find the damn TV broken and screen-first to the floor.

And, of damned course, Patrick was sitting infront of it on the couch when you entered. He smirked at you, his sharp feline fangs showing through his teeth-y grin.

"the programs were boring" He all-but purred, mockingly batting his eyelashes at you. He didn't even hide his amusement. His tail swishing from side to side as if tempting you.