Characters: Rose, Jackie, Nine, Jack, Ten, Donna, and various cats and kittens
Rating/Warning: completely PG... suspicious levels of fluffy cuteness plus a smattering of angst here and there
Summary/Note: LJ informs me that today was measi's birthday, so Happy You-Day, measi! And many thanks again for you-know-what. Here, have seven Doctor Who drabbles about (or at least tangentially related to) cats! Some are canon, some are only canon in my head, and together they sorta tell a story about the Doctor's relationship with felines in his ninth and tenth lives. Hope you enjoy them. :-)
“Mum, you’re such a liar! I told you to nail that cat-flap down, we’re gonna get strays,” Rose complained, heading towards the door to investigate the rattling noises. Honestly, she was glad for the distraction.
The cat-flap rattled again, and there was no cat inside yet. Good, she could chase it off.
“I did it weeks back!” Jackie replied.
“No, you thought about it…” Rose trailed off. There were nails littered on the floor.
Something pushed at the cat-flap again.
She crouched down and poked it experimentally, then pushed it outward.
The face staring in at her was not feline.
“Rose!” the Doctor called as he jogged.
He rounded the corner, stopping short as he noticed motion out of the corner of his eye. The cat meowed, and part of his mind began cataloguing the various ways Rose could have found to get herself turned into one.
No… she’d just wandered off. He picked up the cat, telling it, “Y’know, one day… just one day, maybe… I’m gonna meet somebody who gets the whole ‘don’t wander off’ thing. Nine hundred years of phone box travel, it’s the only thing left that’d surprise me.”
And then the phone box started ringing.
The Doctor tried his best to look stern. He hoped that would be enough, but figured it wouldn’t hurt to reinforce his intent by repeating the words.
“No, and that’s final.”
Somehow silently choosing a new strategy between them, his companions both started closing in on him. He would have backed away, but he was already cornered against a wall.
They each held a tiny, mewling kitten up to him and graced him with eerily-identical pouts.
“They won’t eat much,” Jack said logically.
“And they’re cute and little and helpless,” Rose added with feeling.
The Doctor knew he was doomed.
The scale of it was horrifying. Thousands of force-grown clones, trapped in their own tiny cubicles, suffering from a thousand painful diseases… dying relatively quickly, only to be replaced by another.
And all in the name of science!
But what he really couldn’t understand was whatever they’d done to Rose. And why? What purpose could it possibly serve?
Of course, that turned out not to have been the cat-nuns’ fault in the end, though it didn’t make what they actually had done any less detestable.
Cats are known for being trouble-makers, but this was surely taking it a bit far.
Rose looked up and saw the grimace on the Doctor’s face.
“What?” she asked.
“No, I’m not really a cat person. Once you’ve been threatened by one in a nun’s wimple… kinda takes the joy out of it.”
The cat had apparently had enough of Rose’s attention and started walking off. She stood and followed it, and watched it disappear into an upended cardboard box.
From which it promptly disappeared, leaving more impressive ionic residue. Right… it was time to find that energy source and put an end to this.
The cat did deserve to be rescued, too, after all.
The Doctor turned, pushing the curtain aside, and discovered a litter of small, meowing kittens.
“Mama!” squeaked the grey one.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he said, suddenly finding himself smiling. “Hello!”
He picked up the black-and-white one, cradling it in his hands as he turned back around.
“How old are they?” he asked, scratching the kitten’s head. It began to purr, and his smile grew wider.
But the ensuing conversation with the kittens’ parents killed that smile completely, and then having a warm, fuzzy, purring bundle of sheer cuteness cuddled up to his chest wasn’t even enough to feel comforting anymore.
“They have claws. And probably fleas. And they shed,” complained Donna.
“Not these ones. They’ve had pedicures. And flea baths. And they don’t shed,” the Doctor replied. “Well, they don’t shed much. Well, I say much… okay, they shed. Oh, just c’mere and pet one!”
Donna edged closer, still skeptical. The Doctor reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled it gently down.
The fur was soft, and the cat was purring. The Doctor let go of her hand, but she decided it wouldn’t hurt to pet the little beast a few more times.
She didn’t even realize she was smiling.