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Heroicat
by Steve Anderson
SGAcreative.com
(c) 1995-2005,
Steve Anderson, Writer@SGAcreative.com
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It all started just when I had finally gotten settled for my afternoon nap, of course. There I
was, curled up on the Captain's lap on the bridge, my head nestled just right against my paws, relaxing
into the steady rhythm of her hand stroking my back, and slowly drifting off towards sleep. I even managed
the beginnings of a dream--something about chasing catnip-scented mice around the arboretum.
And
then, without so much as a word of apology, the captain stood up, dumping me down onto the floor and
into the middle of a terrible commotion. Sirens were wailing and people were crying out in alarm and
running from station to station, frantically scrabbling at the keyboards I'm not allowed to sleep on.
It was chaos only humans are capable of; even in a room crammed with yarn and scented mice, you wouldn't
see cats going that berserk.
With a toss of my head, I wandered off to the lift, looking for
someplace quieter to finish my interrupted nap. The engine room seemed like a good bet. It was always
quiet, except for the hum of the ion drive, and I got used to that a long time ago. Besides, the Chief
Engineer likes me, and there are plenty of warm places down there where a tired cat can curl up.
So, a few minutes later, in I wandered, only to regret my decision. If anything, the humans were
making even more noise down here. They were practically falling over one another, trying to use the
keyboards all at the same time, and I smelled fear on most of them.
Even Franklin, the Engineer,
was being unusually loud. "Status report!" he was yelling. "Somebody get me a diagnostic on the hydraulic
system! Carstairs, where's that report?"
Only then did I see the problem. Beyond the knot of
busy technicians, the ion drive was thumping oddly, and letting out gouts of steam and white smoke.
It didn't usually do that, and I considered pointing it out to somebody, but they seemed to have noticed
already. Why they had to make so much noise just because it was acting funny, I still don't understand,
but that's humans for you.
Fed up with the annoying idiosyncrasies of bipedal behavior, I decided
to retreat into the ductwork to finish off my nap. I'm not supposed to go into the ducts, but it's warm
and quiet in there, and if my humans couldn't keep their racket down, it was their fault if I got desperate.
So, while they were all looking at monitors on the other side of the room, I scurried past the engine,
trying not to let its eerie thumping and squealing frighten me, and hopped up into the duct behind it.
I had to go in pretty far before the echoes from the engine room faded away, but at last I found
a favorite spot that was nice and warm and blessedly quiet. Arching my back to stretch it, I curled
up in a ball and started to drift off again.
Once again, I managed to get halfway into a dream,
this time one involving tunafish walking the halls of the recreation deck, only to be woken up again.
For a moment, I was confused, and then it came again: a spritz of something cold and wet against my
back. At once, I was up on all fours, hissing defensively and trying to identify my attacker.
There
was no one there. Had I been human, I would have scratched my head, but thankfully, I'm not, so I just
sat down and washed behind my ears, watching for another spray.
At last, my vigil paid off: right
before my eyes, a few drops of water sprayed from one of the pipes running through the duct. I gave
my ear one last swipe with my paw, and then stepped forward and peered at the tiny hole, placed just
right to ruin my third favorite place for a nap.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't have stooped to maintenance
work, but I had already moved twice, and I wasn't about to do it again. So, instead of moving on to
find yet another place to sleep, I just curled back up, then stretched out one paw and pressed it firmly
over the hole. It wasn't the most comfortable posture in the world, but it did stop the pipe from spraying
water at me, and that was good enough.
I drifted off again, this time finishing a whole dream,
and after a while, I woke again. Something had changed. I cocked my head, trying to identify it, and
at last I figured it out: the distant echoes of the commotion on the bridge and in the engine room had
stopped. Whatever the crisis had been, it was over.
Good, I thought, maybe now I'll have some
peace and quiet. Purring quietly to myself, I closed my eyes again and drifted back off to sleep.
A few hours later, I stood up again and headed off to get some dinner. When I emerged from the ducts,
Franklin was waiting for me, but for once, he didn't lecture me about going where I wasn't allowed.
Instead, he made a proper fuss over me, scratching me behind the ears and calling me a very, very good
cat. I purred to let him know I appreciated his recognition of my worth, but privately, I wondered what
had changed his mind.
A few minutes later, I had my answer. Franklin carried me into the mess
hall, where the whole crew was waiting, decked out in their dress uniforms. As if that wasn't strange
enough, when we walked in, they all started applauding. Strange behavior, even for humans.
Ignoring
the noise, Franklin deposited me on a cushion in the center of the Captain's table. I kneaded the cushion
with my paws, testing the filling, and purred softly, impressed by its quality. Next to me on the table,
I saw, was a piece of red cloth, and on the cloth lay a shiny metal disk attached to a multi-colored
ribbon. It looked like one of the medals the Captain was wearing on her uniform, except that it was
topped with a clip like what they use to hang my ID tag on my collar.
Curious, I watched as the
Captain stood, pausing to scratch me on the head and then turning to her crew. "As most of you know,"
she announced, "we had an emergency this afternoon. A hydraulic line burst, and if it hadn't been for
the quick thinking and heroic action of a certain brave individual, the ion drive might have overheated
and we all might have been killed."
I had learned a long time ago that when the Captain started
off on one of her speeches, it was time to take a nap, and while I felt well-rested, the cushion was
enormously comfortable. Letting her ramble on, I curled my legs up under me and let my eyes drift closed.
"We are here now to honor that brave individual with the Silver Seal, one of the highest honors
we can bestow. This is, I might add, the first time such an award has been given to a member of another
species."
Inwardly, I smiled. Me. They were here to honor me. I would wear the medal with
pride, holding my head high so it would hang down from my neck, shining brightly for all to see. I was,
privately, proud.
But the cushion was comfortable, and I hadn't really had a proper nap with
my paw sticking out to stop the water, and so my moment in the sun would have to wait.
The whole
crew stood and applauded again, but I only heard them distantly; my mind was full of catnip-flavored
mice.
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