From jenfun@cci.net.au Thu Jan 29 16:59:27 1998
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From: jenfun@cci.net.au (JFunnell)
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Subject: REP: "Here, Kitty", TNG, [PG], 1/1, humour
Date: Fri, 30 Jan 1998 00:59:27 GMT
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HERE, KITTY.

This story involves an intense desire of certain people to injure a
certain small animal. If you don't like that, well, you can still read
this story anyway 'cause there's no yukky stuff.

Paramount the highly powerful own Star Trek: The Next Generation and
all characters involved in it. I the lowly possess only my own rather
weird imagination and twisted sense of humour.

Feedback-- all kinds except flames, welcome and loved to bits at
jenfun@cci.net.au

Happy Trekking!!

*************************************************************


Beverly shook her head in disbelief at the trio who now sat in her
sickbay in various stages of injury. Painful lumps on heads, facial
scratches, a broken toe, skinned knees, a black eye, a cracked jaw, a
set of bruised ribs... She could not understand for the life of her
how three grown men could wound themselves in such a manner. And they
wouldn't tell her. All she had been able to gather was that it wasn't
the holodeck or an away mission. She blew air impatiently through
clenched teeth.

"For the last time, how did you get these injuries? I am GOING," she
added ominously, "to find out anyway, so you may as well tell me." 

The three looked at each other, obviously uncomfortable. Finally, the
silence was broken. "If you find out, you have to swear on your life
that you won't laugh."

Her curiosity was piqued. "Of course not. I promise." If this was
going to be funny, then she had no intention of keeping that promise,
but they wouldn't know that. 

Sighing, the tallest human of the three began to talk. 

***********************************************

A WEEK BEFOREHAND...

Geordi shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I don't know about this,
guys. I don't like this. It's a rotten thing to do. And to Data, of
all people..."

"I agree," sighed Riker, "but what other choice do we have? SOMETHING
has to be done."

"Agreed," snarled Worf. The three of them were standing around in
Riker's quarters. "I respect Commander Data's right to share his
quarters with whichever lifeform he chooses, but this is no longer
acceptable. The situation must be taken care of." He rumbled out his
verdict. "That... *animal* of his must be dealt with."

"You know how that would affect Data as well as I do. He thinks the
world of his cat."

"Geordi," said a very exasperated Will, "I realise what you're saying,
but you do realise that Data is going off on leave soon. For four
weeks. And you know what happens every time he goes away or can't take
care of Spot for some reason, don't you? He asks one of us to do it!
Would you like to volunteer to be her guardian for the month?"

Geordi winced. "I'll pass, thanks."

Worf growled. "The last time I had the responsibility of caring for
that... creature, she... regurgitated her every meal. In inappropriate
places. It is fitting for a warrior to sleep on the floor in times of
battle or hardship. It is NOT fitting for a warrior to have to sleep
on the floor because an animal has soiled his bedding material."

"What did you feed her?"

"Gagh, pipius claw and targ feed."

"Mystery solved," muttered Riker. Louder, he said "Geordi, what did
she do to you?"

"What DIDN'T she do might be a better question. She tore up my carpet,
chewed on my VISOR at night-- do you know what it's like to wake up in
the morning and have to put a slimy, wet VISOR on your face? And then
she'd try to eat my food every meal I ate in my cabin. Once I turned
my back on my fungilli for three seconds and turned back to find her
buried face first in it. It ended up that I had to eat every meal in
Ten-Forward just to make sure the food stayed on my plate for more
than ten seconds. I was *not* impressed." 

Will nodded. "Did she ever attack you? Or try to?"

"Constantly. I told Data he should train her. She ended up training
HIM."

Will snorted. "I didn't even have her in my cabin. I just had to go in
and feed her. Hissed and flew at my face. She sliced my forehead open.
Beverly thought I'd been playing Parrises Squares. She laughed when I
told her what had happened."

"I believe the time has come for action." stated Worf firmly.

"Are we all agreed?" asked Will. The others nodded.

"Very well. Operation Spot the Lemming has commenced. Seven day
countdown to action. Data's cat must be dealt with, by methods fair or
foul. She is staying with the vet for the month, *not* us."

"Yeah," Geordi sighed reluctantly. He was none too fond of Spot, and
he dreaded the thought that Data might ask him to pet-sit again, but
he knew how much Data valued the furry little... 

"Commander, just one question." This in a basso-profundo from Worf.

"Sure. What is it?"

"What is a lemming?"

"It's what Spot's going to be. The lemming is an Earth creature with
legendary suicidal tendancies. The idea is to make this injury look
like an accident if we can."

"Ah. So we should urge Spot to throw herself off a high surface. Or
down a turbolift shaft."

Riker sighed. "That won't work. Spot never does anything she's told,
and there are no surfaces in these quarters high enough to hurt her,
even if she *is* pregnant. And where'd you get the turbolift idea
from, anyway? It sounds like something Doctor Pulaski would think of."

******************************************

"I don't believe it!! You were going to hurt Spot? Data adores her,
you all know that!!" Beverly shrilled. 

"Yeah, I know, but we were sick to death of her. Besides, we didn't
get very 
far with the plan."

"What do you mean?"

Worf scowled. "The old saying that cats have nine lives is obviously
false. They are obviously immortal beings, put here to trial a
warrior's patience."

"Huh?"

Sighing, Geordi took up the tale.

********************************************

EARLIER THAT DAY...

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," whispered Riker as he slipped carefully
into Data's quarters, followed by Geordi and Worf. After several days
of debate, they had finally come up with a plan that would seem
accidental. 

The ruffled feline spat her displeasure at the intruders and dashed
under the couch. The three men ignored her. Geordi crossed the room
and found Data's easel. Carefully he examined it. Yes, it was as Data
had said-- Spot's tendancy to scratch at the legs had caused one to
become extremely fragile and unstable, with an especially weak point.
He kicked at it once for good measure, then nodded to the other two,
who came over. Carefully, Riker smeared a tiny portion of catnip onto
the break, while Worf went to coax Spot from under the couch with a
catnip mouse.

The plan was relatively simple. Spot, enticed by the catnip, would
knead and scratch at the post. This would bring the easel crashing
down, most probably on Spot's tail as she started to bolt. If the
easel failed to crash, a little help would be given. Then Data would
return, discover Spot's injury and leave her in the vet's care.
Simple. 

Worf started to back towards the easel, enticing Spot with the catnip
mouse. Holding their breath, they watched as Spot leaped to the easel
and started rubbing her face frantically against the catnip there. The
easel creaked menacingly, and Spot's hackles raised. But then, instead
of bolting away and getting caught by the tail as they had
anticipated, Spot jumped up and began to climb the easel
mountaineering-style.

In less than a second, she had bolted her way up to the top of the
easel. Overstressed by her weight, the wood gave and the leg cracked
as the easel lurched. Startled at the movement, Spot yowled and leaped
to the nearest haven at approximately the same height.

Which happened to be Geordi. 

Geordi yelped as Spot suddenly jumped onto his head and clung
desperately to his VISOR by her claws. The VISOR was yanked off his
face by the sudden pressure, and it landed with a soft thud on the
carpeted deck while Spot bolted for cover. 

Worf growled and gave chase to the troublesome cat while Riker bent
down to pick up Geordi's VISOR. Geordi, too, leaned down into the
general area he had heard the VISOR land and cracked his head directly
into Will's. They both staightened up with a yelp of pain.

Meanwhile, Worf was having his own troubles. Spot was proving most
difficult to apprehend. He shouted, "Freeze! You are under arrest for
assualt on a Starfleet officer!" in his best intimidating voice. It
did not work on Spot as it worked on most people, and he realised in
disgust that this creature had no respect for, or fear of, authority.
Finally, however, Worf had Spot trapped under the couch.

Will ducked across the room and motioned Worf aside as Geordi
reattached his VISOR. Worf took a step back as Will prepared to catch
hold of the cat and hold her still while the easel fell. In hindsight,
they should have done that earlier. [Oh, well,] he thought. 

Advancing cautiously towards Spot, who seemed quite calm now, he
reached out for her. He was totally unprepared for the sudden hiss and
lunge that she spat at him. Jumping backwards in alarm, his foot
crunched on Worf's, and Worf hollered a vile Klingon oath.    

Spot took off at maximum speed for the next room, Will and Geordi in
hot pursuit. As Geordi entered the room and Will reached the door,
Spot dashed up onto Data's shelves, knocking down several knicknacks.
Among them was Data's clay mask that he had made while the D'Arcay
archive had taken over his mind. Alarmed, Geordi lunged forward to
catch it, and found himself landing with a painful thud on his knees,
clay mask precariously dangling between his fingertips.

Spot, meanwhile, took a graceful flying leap off the shelf towards
Will's shoulder. Remembering Geordi's fate when that had happened,
Will dodged aside quickly-- and found his face coming into instant and
painful contact with the doorjamb. Yelling, he put his hand onto his
aching eye and let Spot streak past, back into the living room.
Cursing, Geordi pushed himself up and followed her, hurriedly placing
the Masaka mask back where it belonged.

He reached the sofa just in time for Worf to shout in alarm, "Get
down, Commander!" Surprised, he turned around to see Spot bringing her
paw back, ready to slice him in the face. The next thing he knew,
there were strong arms wrapped around his shins, and he was headed
rather quickly towards the floor. He landed chest-first on the floor
with his ribs suddenly on fire.

Worf growled at the creature hissing at him from the top of the
computer console. The creature had almost attacked Commander LaForge.
Luckily, he had managed to save the engineer from injury.

He got up slowly, not shifting his position from behind Commander
LaForge, trying to lull his opponent into a false sense of security
regarding his actions. Then, just as he began his lunge, he realised
his mistake as the lieutenant commander started to get up. Worf tried
to dodge further around the engineer, but it was too late. Howling in
rage, his legs snagged on his superior officer's body, knocking Geordi
flat with a cry of pain as Worf's knee rammed straight into his
already aching ribs. Worf, meanwhile, was otherwise occupied with
smashing his jaw on the console.

Will staggered into the room, unable to believe what was happening. He
helplessly watched as their prey calmly groomed itself, as his
crewmates struggled to get up. As they finally staggered to their
feet, Spot looked directly at them and issued a low, warning growl.

Defeated, the three Starfleet officers stumbled out of Data's
quarters.  

***************************************

"Beverly, you promised you wouldn't laugh," complained Will.

Beverly was holding onto the edge of a biobed, shrieking with mirth.
Gasping, she managed to catch her breath. "Oh, my... Deanna will LOVE
this!" And off she went into another spasm of hilarity.

"It's not so funny from our end, you know," pointed out Geordi.

"No kidding," said Will. "We're sore as anything, and Data's still
going to ask one of us to pet-sit. As you can imagine, we don't really
want to, especially not now."

"Three Starfleet officers! Brought down by a little kitty cat!"

Will was getting irritated. "Yes, Beverly, a little kitty cat. A
little kitty cat who must have been a Q in a past life. Now, could you
please fix us up?"

Beverly tried hard to calm herself, and managed to stifle her
laughter, except for the occasional giggle. She picked up an
anti-inflammatory hypospray for the swollen eye and jaw, and wiped the
tear trickle from her cheek. 

The doors to Sickbay parted, and Data walked in, Spot in his arms.
Instantly, the three 'victims' on the biobeds started to edge back
nervously.

"Ah, Doctor Crusher, I am glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too, Data. And so are my patients," Beverly said,
struggling desperately to maintain a straight face as the trio glared
furiously at her.

Data inclined his head. "Hello Commander, Geordi, Lieutenant. I have
come regarding a personal matter."

Three figures cringed, one grinned.

"Tomorrow, I shall be leaving for a month's personal leave, as you may
all be aware..."

Geordi groaned inwardly. [You don't know *how* aware, Data.]

"... and arrangements will have to be made as to the care of Spot."
Data paused for a minute, then turned to Beverly. "Doctor, since she
is currently 'with kitten', so to speak, I would be much more
comfortable leaving her in medical care. If you do not mind, I would
like to leave her in your capable hands." And he offered Spot to
Beverly.

Surprised, Beverly stretched her arms out and took Spot, who growled
menacingly at the trio on the biobeds and then turned to her new
minder. Sniffing at this long-haired human for a few moments seemed to
provide a favourable report, for Spot purred happily and settled down
in Beverly's arms while Will, Geordi and Worf all stared in disbelief.

Beverly smiled innocently. "Of course, Data. I'd be glad to mind her."

"Thank you, Doctor. I must now go and prepare for my departure." And,
with a farewell to the others, he was gone.

Beverly smiled. "Well, gentlemen, it seems your concern was, shall we
say, misplaced," she said brightly, watching her patients as the
situation sank in.

"We didn't need to? All for *nothing*?!" gasped Will finally.   

"It seems so, doesn't it?" And Beverly quickly turned her attentions
to her new charge to avoid a burst of hysterical laughter. "Well,
little one, we'd better arrange for some provisions for your visit,
shouldn't we?"

Spot answered by licking the CMO's face as she turned to leave.
Beverly chuckled at the tickle. "My, aren't you an affectionate little
thing?" she cheerfully said, delivering her parting blow as she left
Sickbay.

Her laughter could still be heard three corridors away.

The trio sat stunned, unmoving. Finally Will stirred enough to say, "I
say we kill her."

"Which one?" asked Geordi.

"Does it matter?"

THE END.   


Trek Long and Write about it,      :-)
Jenny
jenfun@cci.net.au