"Goooooood, kitty."
by Adalia Zandra

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they aren't mine, I'm just borrowing them, so please don't sue me. Thanks!

Fandom: House, MD.
Crossover: None.

Category: Humor.
Status: COMPLETE.

Rating: The rating formerly known as G.
Warnings: Silliness.

Summary: Two people who know House well observe and speculate on a lazy afternoon.

Author's Notets: Just some silliness that occurred to me while I was working on chapter two of Rewound (a Stargate: SG-1 / MacGyver crossover I'm currently putting together - my apologies to anyone who has me on Author Alert for that and is getting this instead).


Wilson was sitting in one of the visitors' chairs in Cuddy's office. He had originally been there to drop off some paperwork from his department, but had stayed to chat because, he had to admit to himself, he was bored. And Cuddy seemed similarly at a loss for excitement. It was a slow afternoon at the hospital.

Normally, Wilson would have tracked down House and followed the crotchety doctor into whatever mischief he was bound to find to keep himself amused. But today just seemed like more of a sit around and chat day than a look around for trouble day.

He wasn't the only one to think so. Even as he and Cuddy watched, House wandered into the waiting room just outside Cuddy's glass walled office and perched himself contentedly on a chair to people watch.

"He's like a cat," Cuddy said suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Wilson replied, not sure he'd heard that right.

"House. He's like a cat," Cuddy repeated.

"Oooookay," Wilson drawled. "I'm not quite seeing that."

"Have you ever owned a cat?" Cuddy asked.

"My wife and I have one right now. The little beast and I have an understanding. I don't bother her, she doesn't bother me. I'm really more of a dog person," Wilson admitted.

"Hmmm. Well, I've always lived with cats. And trust me, House is like a cat. I mean, look at him!" Cuddy pointed. "He's found a spot he likes and he's going to sit there until he's darn well ready to move."

As she spoke, House sneered at a flustered looking mother who was trying to herd her three children past him.

"I'm still not sure," Wilson shook his head. "That could just be because he's a selfish bastard."

"So are most cats. He could be hiding in his office playing his GameBoy right now and get away with it. But no, he's out there, sitting exactly in the middle of everything, glaring at poor unsuspecting passersby as if he were the master of the universe. Why? Because he can. Total cat,"

Cuddy was really warming to her idea. But Wilson was still unconvinced.

"I don't know."

"Oh, and the parallel doesn't end there. You've seen how he gets when something catches his attention? He just drops whatever he was doing. I've even seen him stop in the middle of a sentence and walk out of the room. It's exactly like what happens when you drag a string across a cat's path."

"Maybe . . ."

"And the fickle, cat-like jealousy! When he wants to be the center of attention, he's got to be the center of attention somehow, or he sulks and refuses to talk to anyone until he wants something from them again."

Wilson looked thoughtful, but Cuddy wasn't paying much attention to him any more. She was watching House watch people, and continuing to build her parallel.

"And God forbid somebody tries to talk to him when he doesn't want to talk. It's exactly the reaction you get if you touch a cat who doesn't want you to. A glare, a growl, and then he reaches out and scratches you with his verbal claws."

"Okay. I guess when you put it that way . . ."

"And let's not forget the cat treats! You can bribe him with treats, like time off from the Clinic, and he'll behave for a while. But before long he'll have found some sort of mischief to get into and you have to rub his nose in it and tell him 'No!' firmly."

Cuddy was giggling now, and Wilson was trying very hard to keep a straight face. The images Cuddy was painting with her descriptions were just the right medicine for the bored oncologist. Finally, Wilson gave in and snickered.

"He's just a big, fuzzy, House cat . . ."

And the both of them cracked up.


Out in the waiting room, House glared as a thirty-something woman in a power suit and high heels clicked her way daintily past him. He was horribly bored, and had been looking for Wilson in order to con his friend into buying him lunch. His last hope had been Cuddy's office, and lo and behold, there he had found his errant free lunch ticket. Not wanting to brave Cuddy's office for fear of being ordered to Clinic duty just because Cuddy was PMSing, or suffering from any other arcane female excuse for irrationality, House took up a post in the middle of the room and bided his time watching the various people walk in and out.

Every so often, he glanced through the glass wall into Cuddy's office. She and Wilson appeared to be chatting and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. Glancing at them again, he saw the two of them laughing. Grumbling under his breath, House turned back to watch the power suit lady take a seat across the walkway from him. She smiled in his direction, probably trying to be friendly. House cocked his head to the side and stared unblinkingly back at her. His withering gaze made her nervous, and she looked away.

House turned his attention on the middle aged man sitting next to her and watched as the guy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Was that a beer gut, or some abdominal distension? The guy certainly did look constipated . . . probably IBS, the bored diagnostician idly concluded.

Satisfied, House turned to look into Cuddy's office again, and was startled to see that the previous occupants thereof had disappeared.

Grumbling again, because now he had to get up and restart his search for Wilson, House thumped his cane against the floor with irritation. He popped a Vicodin and waited about five minutes, psyching himself up for the ordeal of standing and walking to the elevators to try Wilson's office again. Annoyed, he thumped the ground with his cane a few more times for good measure.

"Good kitty," he heard someone say in a sickly sweet voice somewhere behind him and to the left. He twisted around to look, and saw Wilson holding a Reuben sandwich enticingly towards him, with a wicked grin on his face. And Cuddy was behind him, trying very hard not to laugh. "Goooooood, kitty."

Later, Cuddy and Wilson would giggle unprofessionally as they reminisced about how priceless the look on House's face had been.