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Kitty Kisses
by Taima Hiroshima
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Since everybody liked this, I thought I would keep writing! Thank you sooo much for all your kind reviews.
Birdie was probably the strangest cat House had ever met in his entire life. And somehow, that suited him just fine. He never thought much of normal people anyway. What did they ever contribute to society? It was always the oddballs that gave the great things.
Albert Einstein never managed to wear matching socks.
At least, that's what House told himself on the mornings when HE couldn't find matching socks.
Anyway, Birdie was strange. She liked to ride on House's shoulder. She was small and knew right away to sink her claws into his shirt and not his shoulder. She seemed to think his limping gait was like a ride just for her.
She refused to eat the kitten food Wilson got her. She would sit in front of her dish, glaring at the food, daring it to turn into something else. If House or Wilson walked by she would look at them most pathetically.
House, against his better judgment, began to sneak her little bits of other food. She liked peanut butter, and it was fascinating to watch her eat, so House figured it was a win-win situation.
She'd lick and lick and lick her chops and then wander around for ten minutes, smacking her lips. Extremely fun to watch.
"House, is something wrong with the cat?" Wilson eyed her cautiously after coming home late one night. House looked up from his newspaper at Birdie smacking her lips as she played with a catnip toy.
("Doesn't that get cats high?" Wilson had asked with an eyebrow raised.
"So? What exactly do you think I do when you come home late? It's about time I had a stoning buddy." House said defensively. Wilson threw his hands in the air and wandered off.)
"No, she's fine." House managed to keep a straight face as he went back to the paper. Wilson wandered into the kitchen and saw the peanut butter jar.
Rats.
"House, are you giving the cat PEANUT butter?" he came out, holding the jar accusingly.
"Maybe a little. From time to time. She likes it! Besides, she doesn't like the crap that comes out of that box. She's got to eat something."
"That's really not healthy for the cat."
"She doesn't seem any worse for the wear. Are you Birdie?" he asked. She looked up from stalking her mouse and meowed. She then sat and prettily began to wash her face.
"Of all the cats in the world, we had to get the WEIRD one." Wilson grumbled.
"Don't talk like that! She's supposed to be our trial baby. Would you talk about a baby like that?" House called.
"House. Shut. Up."
Birdie also liked to sit with people while they were in the shower. She always seemed to know when you were going in to bathe, and would creep up behind you and rush in you were trying to close the door.
She'd then sit on the sink and watch and listen while you took a shower. At first, House thought it disturbing that she was a voyeur, but then told himself that maybe she was just in there because she liked to hear him singing opera in the shower.
He wasn't sure why she followed James. Or maybe he was. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, he always scolded himself when this came to mind. Think of something else. No Vicodin, Chase naked.... Anything but James!
And when you left your wet towel on the floor, as House always did, the cat would always stalk in, and get tangled up in it. But she won those fights with the towel. Oh yes, she might come out damp, but she was victorious.
Yes, Birdie was indeed a strange cat. And somehow, that suited House just fine. She enjoyed their custody nights together, often snuggling up in the crook of his neck. He'd feel the warm, fuzzy bundle purring sweetly in his ear.
If no one was looking, if Wilson was asleep, House would turn his chin. He would rub against the silky fur and feel Birdie sigh with contentment. He rather liked it when she slept with him, and was loath to let her go when it was Wilson's turn.
He often woke up and found the two of them tangled up in each other. He felt a twinge of jealousy as he stood leaning against his cane in his boxer shorts.
Whether he was jealous of the cat or the man, he couldn't say.
One night, shortly after they had Birdie, Wilson came in late. Birdie was sitting with House, as he shared a jar of peanut butter with her. They even shared the same spoon, and if anyone asked, House would maintain that it was because he didn't want to have to wash an extra item.
James stood inside the door, watching them. Birdie seemed fascinated by her meal and the monster truck rally on television. James put his hands on his hips.
"How many times do I have to ask you to not give her peanut butter?" he demanded.
"You mean before I listen, or before you get tired of saying it?" House asked innocently as he popped the spoon into his mouth, sucking off the goo.
"It's not good for her!"
"What's got your panties so up in a bunch tonight, Wilson?" House put down the spoon. Birdie looked for it to the jar, no doubt cursing her lack of thumbs.
"If you must know that girl I was treating died today." Wilson snarled. House blinked, trying for the life of him to remember which girl Wilson was talking about. Let's see, cancer girl, bald.
Riiight. The eighteen year old with ovarian cancer. Very unusual in someone so young. Tragic, but it would be something that she would be put into medical books for. House dug out more peanut butter and put some on his finger for Birdie to lick off.
"Oh," House shrugged. Patients died.
"That's all you have to say? Oh?" Wilson stopped in the middle of undoing his
tie.
"Don't worry, I'm sure she's gone to eighteen year old Heaven, with lots of frat parties and no midterms. God, what do you want me to say, James?"
"For once, Greg, for once, I think I want to hear you say you're sorry and mean it. I want to hear you care about someone other than yourself! Is that too much to ask for?" James was on the brink of shouting.
"Patients die, James. Especially in your field. And if you can't deal with that, then you have no business being a doctor." Greg snapped back. James looked at him and shook his head.
"You're right. I have no business. But not about being a doctor. I have no business being with you!" he grabbed his keys and bounced out of the house without even his coat. Birdie looked from the slammed door to House in a very confused manner.
"Oh, he's just had a bad day. Mommy will be right back, don't you worry your whiskers about it, Birdie." He tapped her gently on the nose. She looked longingly at the door.
She continued to stare all night. And so did House. Where was that man? Didn't he care one bit that House was worried? Did that ever strike him? Of course not. House glowered to himself until the clock told him it was eleven. He stood up and stretched.
"Come on, Birdie. Let's go to bed." He told the white ball of fluff. She didn't move from her post.
"What's wrong with you? Staring won't make him come faster."
She gave him a look as if to say; "Well you were doing it to! Can't you fix this?" House tried to lift her, but she just dug her claws right into the couch. House gave up and went to bed. It was Wilson's night to have her anyway.
House lay awake in bed, waiting. He knew he wouldn't get one second of rest until he heard that door open. Finally, he heard it open, heard someone walking carefully in the living room.
"Hey Birdie, how come you're not with House?" James asked softly. Birdie meowed in returned. James sighed.
"Was he was waiting for me too?" House got up and limped to the door. He watched James sit down on the couch. "I know, I shouldn't take my anger out on him. I've known him for years. How can I expect him to change?"
He flopped down on the couch. Instantly, Birdie made herself comfortable. She licked gently at James's face for a moment, and House realized she was licking away tears. Wilson chuckled and petted her.
"I'm so glad we got you. Even if you do have peanut butter breath."
House stood there until he was sure they had both fallen asleep. He crept out into the living room and looked down at his best friend, dried tears clinging to his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've very sorry." He bent down and kissed his friends cheek, tasting the salty tears.
"Poor James." He turned and limped back to bed.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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