So, technically they accidentally adopt one cat. But then it always starts with just one, doesn’t it?
Her Name is Flora
***
It wasn’t Wash’s fault. He didn’t even start it.
He’d taken a gaggle of the joint army’s more promising young marksmen out into the field to work on their field craft. For all his natural talent at playing drill sergeant, he was one of the few people left on Chorus who had actual special ops experience, and they needed someone who could train up a new generation of snipers and pathfinders.
The kids—soldiers; he didn’t need to make himself sound as old as he felt—were in the middle of a rousing, mud-covered game of extreme hide-and-seek. Active camo was nice and all, but having survived his first tour in the military without it, he happened to think relying on it was lazy and a good way to die. He had half the troop skulking through the demolished neighborhood, trying to catch and capture the hidden other half. Wash was pretending with great success to be one more lump in a pile of rubble. They’d made fun of the yellow stripes. He’d explain disruptive coloration to them after they failed to find him.
That was, of course, when Caboose came barreling up to Wash’s position, bellowing, “Agent Washington!”
If he could only harness Caboose’s freakish natural talents, he could conquer worlds. He let Caboose bounce on his heavily armored toes, watching unmoving while three troopers in line of sight stopped and stared. One of them twitched a little as she managed to make out his outline. The other two just kept looking confused until he sighed and unfolded out of the wreckage.
“None of you get to count me,” he told them, jabbing a finger in their direction. “What is it, Caboose?”
Caboose held a cream-colored lump in front of Wash’s visor.
“It’s…a cat.” Not sure what he was supposed to do here, he put a hand on the cat’s head, partly to keep it from being jammed any further into his face and partly because it was soft and pettable.
All versions of Church had always hated cats. He didn’t like being challenged as the most important thing in the room. Wash considered it another point in their favor.
“Yeah. She’s sick.”
“Where did you even find her?” He rubbed under her chin. She seemed unconvinced, but perhaps willing to be persuaded.
“They follow me around. I may be their god.”
Wash looked around the cat at Caboose for a moment. “You’ve been feeding them, haven’t you.” There must have been loads of strays and ferals like her on Chorus. He hadn’t really thought about it before.
Caboose did a weird little shuffling move, and tilted his head up. Wash got the weirdest sensation that he was being menaced. “…Maybe.”
“Then yes, you probably are their god.”
There were probably objections he should voice, if he were being completely practical. That they were still on rations till the UNSC shipments restored their stores. That MREs–because he was sure Caboose was feeding them his MREs–weren’t appropriate food for cats. But…hell, everything on Chorus had been starved out and bombed out for so long that he didn’t have the heart to protest any creature around here getting a bit of compassionate care.
She was pretty small, but she looked at least close to full grown. Her fur was a bit damp and bedraggled, probably from Caboose’s slog out here, and she didn’t look like being carried around by a human tank ranked among her top experiences. She was obviously a stray, only half-socialized, and if she hadn’t been sick, Caboose probably would never have caught her. Then again, it was Caboose, so who knew?
He gathered her out of Caboose’s hands and turned her back and forth a bit, noting primarily that she continued to be a cat from multiple angles. There wasn’t anything obvious wrong with her, except for her droopiness. “Well…” When in doubt, there was one place on Chorus you could reliably take all your medical questions to.
Caboose hadn’t moved, fixated on Wash and the cat in his hands and glowing with transparent faith that all his troubles were as good as solved. He was an act of God waiting to happen if Wash tried to accomplish anything else before he saw to this.
Most of the hiders had been found by now. Wash made a mental note of who’d managed to escape, and switched on his suit amp. “Oly oly oxenfree, guys! War games are over for the day, soldiers. Head on back to the rifle range and practice your target shooting.” He tapped Caboose on the arm. “Come on. Let’s go see if Dr. Gray’s got any veterinary training in her bottomless bag of degrees.”
Of course she did.
“She’s malnourished and she’s got an ear infection,” Emily pronounced after a brief examination. “Which makes her the fifth patient I’ve seen with those problems today. Give her these eardrops, and don’t feed her milk or chocolate!”
Wash took the vial she held out to him. Who the hell had chocolate on this rock, let alone would give it to cats? He realized the answer to both questions was ‘Caboose’ at the same time as he caught up to the implications of holding the medicine. “Wait, this- This isn’t my cat.”
Emily glanced at Caboose and then back to him. “Yep!”
Wash also glanced at Caboose. Shit. Yeah. “Uh… Caboose? Have you…ever had any pets?”
Enthusiasm made him grow visibly larger, and possibly more brightly colored. “Oh yes! I have had so many pets! There is Freckles! And Fluffy. And also Spot! And Petunia and Horace and Charles Barkins and—”
Wash held up a hand. He could risk asking for clarification, or he could just medicate the damn cat. He sighed and tucked her into the crook of his arm. “Do you have an extra blanket?”
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