Spock held the black cat in his lap, stroking its fur. Jim narrowed his eyes. Unless cats were out in the barn catching mice, he had no use for them. They were aloof, cruel creatures who never obeyed orders. Jim was particularly suspicious of them when they arrived in the arms of men who beamed aboard and claimed to be from unknown planets. The mysterious Mr. Seven had said he needed to get to earth to save it from destruction. That was just bunk. The fact that Mr. Seven’s cat had attacked one of the security guards hadn’t escaped Jim’s notice either.

“What do you think of the cat, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked. He suspected there was more to the beast than met the eye. Spock always had some scientific hypotheses to offer.

“Quite a lovely animal, Jim. I find myself strangely drawn to it.”

Jim narrowed his eyes even more, and ground his teeth. It was clear that the cat was exerting some sort of power over Spock’s mind. “I meant,” Jim said, “do you have any theories as to its origins or its powers? Was it communicating in some way with Mr. Seven?” He didn’t like how the cat was taking up all of Spock’s attention, and not in a research-oriented way.

Spock considered the cat for a moment. The cat lifted its head and looked Spock in the eye. “I could form a telepathic bond with her in order to obtain answers to your questions.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jim said sharply. The last thing he wanted was some feline/Vulcan mind-meld going on under his watch. There was no telling what the cat might do to Spock if given access to his brain. Jim had seen the results of that kind of thing before. No one was going to do any mind-melding with Spock unless his name was James T. Kirk. There were other ways to get information. Jim turned to the computer. He’d find out what Mr. Seven was up to without Spock’s -- or the cat’s -- help. But Jim planned to stick close to Spock just in case the cat tried anything funny.

***

When the business with Mr. Seven had been resolved -- no imploding earth, thank God -- Jim returned to his quarters, intending to shower and get in a power nap before his shift on the bridge. He was suprised to find Spock sitting on his bed, looking the Vulcan version of forlorn. Over the years, Jim had learned to read Spock’s minute facial expressions with incredible accuracy. He could feel Spock’s emptiness and longing, too, even without establishing a physical connection.

He sat on the bed beside Spock, touching a hunched shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“It is nothing of consequence,” Spock said.

Jim sighed. “It’s of consequence to me.” He didn’t like sad Spock.

“We did not have cats on Vulcan. The climate was too harsh to support many mammalian species of the type found on earth or other lush planets.” Spock picked several short, black hairs off of his shirt. “I believe these belong to Isis. It is common for cats to shed.”

“Spock, are you missing that cat?” Jim couldn’t imagine a more preposterous notion. But Spock had seemed to like the creature.

“She did spend a great deal of time with me while she was on board. I found her presence comforting and calming. I do not understand my reaction.”

“That cat attacked one of our men,” Jim pointed out.

“She was only protecting Mr. Seven. Her loyalty is admirable.” Spock finally looked up at Jim.

Jim leaned over and bit Spock’s ear. “I protect you. And don’t I calm you down?” He kissed the bit of Spock’s neck just below his ear.

“Indeed, you have the opposite effect.” Spock’s voice sounded rumbly right beside Jim’s ear.

Jim felt slightly guilty for distracting Spock with sex, but, hey, that was kind of his job. Well, not his real job. This particular duty wasn’t in the Starfleet manual. There were no regulations ordering him to kiss Spock open-mouthed, sliding his tongue along Spock’s teeth. As far as he knew, there were no sub-sections devoted to undressing his first officer.

It was lucky Jim knew how to read between the lines.

***

During the supply stopover on Beltane IX, the crew had some shore leave time, and most were out getting drunk or buying trinkets at the merchant square. Jim wandered the market with Spock scoping the booths for devices that could be useful during research missions. Spock had already purchased collection jars and an insect identification program for his tricorder.

A squirrelly merchant called out from his booth: “Tribbles! Get your tribbles right here! Who doesn’t love a tribble?”

“I don’t,” Jim muttered under his breath. He glanced at Spock, expecting a knowing look, but Spock was looking past him. Jim followed Spock’s gaze, curious as to what had caught Spock’s attention.

Toward the back of the merchant’s booth was a dirty, rusty cage filled with equally dirty kittens. Spock knelt beside the cage, peering into it like a child at a pet shop. Jim groaned inwardly, and made his way toward Spock.

The kittens mewed and rose up on their hind legs, pawing the metal of the cage. The cage smelled awful. One of the kittens was missing an ear. Jim steeled himself against the high-pitched noises trying to pierce his eardrums.

Spock had put his fingers through the mesh to pet a tiny black kitten, who stared silently out at the world with deep blue eyes. The little brat trembled as if cold. Jim could see where this was leading. “Spock,” he said, trying to sound commanding.

Spock tilted his head to look at Jim. Jim knew that look. Spock’s eyes were dark, the pupils quite large. He didn’t say ‘please’ aloud, but Jim could feel Spock thinking it. He could feel Spock thinking: Mr. Seven travelled through space with one. It is only logical to assume that other voyagers do, as well.

Spock was probably mind-melding with the thing right then and there. Jim sighed.

***

As the transporter finished its process of assembling their molecules, Jim looked out into the transporter room. Scotty waited, as he often did, to make sure everyone was in one piece. The engineer was the first to see the new addition to the Enterprise crew.

“What on earth have you got there?” Scotty asked, bewildered.

The kitten leaped out of Spock’s arms and streaked out of the room in a blur of black.

“Haven’t you ever seen a kitten before?” Jim asked grouchily, hefting the cat litter and poop box the merchant had pushed on them. He stalked off the pad and down the corridor. Spock could explain the situation to Scotty. Jim wasn’t going to answer to anyone. There weren’t any damn regulations against having cats on board. There was only common sense.

***

Later, Jim pressed the button to be admitted to Spock’s quarters, expecting that he might be sharing a bed not only with Spock, but with another black-haired life form that night. He wasn’t happy about it, but what could he do. Who was he to deny Spock a kitten if it made him happy? The door opened.

Of course, Spock had the little beast in his arms, and was petting it. A loud purring marred the silence. Great. “Have you named that thing yet?” Jim asked as the door closed behind him. He eyed the bed. It was probably covered in cat hair.

Spock crossed his room and placed the kitten in a small box lined with cloth. “Stay there,” Spock ordered.

“I hate to break it to you, but you can’t train cats to do anything,” Jim said.

Spock raised an eyebrow, as if to say: Is that so? The kitten sat up, staring at Spock with comprehension. It stayed put, even as Spock returned to where Jim was standing. “I thought I would name him Tiberius, since it is an appellation you do not use.”

“You named it after me?” Jim wasn’t sure if he should be offended or...pleased.

“He seems to be more suited to following orders than you are,” Spock observed. “I have already trained him to sleep in his own bed, knowing that you would prefer such an arrangement.” Spock drew nearer, placing a hand on Jim’s hip.

“Very perceptive of you,” Jim said, leaning in to kiss Spock and snake a hand under his shirt. He felt only contentment and desire instead of sadness coming through the connection between them.

Maybe the kitten could be tolerated, after all.