"Agent T"

<pre>"It's strange, really," muttered James, looking at the tiny grey creature in his lap, "I always saw you as more of a dog person."

Q sipped his tea, looking thoughtful. "Me? I never could be doing with dogs. No independence, you see. Now, cats...they know that they're in charge of themselves. I respect that."

"Also," said Eve, "They're adorable! Look, James; I think she likes you!"

The kitten purred, nuzzling its little face against his hand. It rolled onto its back, pawing at his tie. Q and Eve seemed to find this *cute*. James was not impressed. He didn't get his rank in the secret service for being *cute*. Unlike this little cat, he had worked night and day, killing people and watching friends and loved ones die. This cat could never sacrifice what he had for his country. This cat could never begin to understand him. What was the point? Why would anybody get a cat? "What's its name?"

Eve smiled. "Her name's Tibbles, but we call her Agent T."

"You gave your cat a *code name*?" James looked scandalised. "Has it even completed the years of strenuous agent training? How can it *possibly* have a code name if it doesn't know how to tell the difference between a semi-automatic rifle and a musket while blindfolded? It doesn't even have the necessary opposable thumbs to shoot a pistol!" The kitten yawned, rolling onto its back and waving its legs around in the air.

Q looked concerned. "Are you alright, James? You seem to be taking this a little bit too seriously."

There were a few minutes of awkward silence, before James sighed and handed the kitten back to Eve. "M hid my whiskey. I'm too sober to be dealing with cats right now." </pre>