[dwest]

Captain woke to find Crew (aka darn cat) practicing wiggle-toe cat-fu. If Captain moved one of his feet under the covers of his rack, Crew would pounce, bite, and claw at that foot with some intricate ears-back, eyes-flared-wide, cat-fu gymnastics. Captain decided it would be a good idea to lay still.

Crew stretched and wriggled as shameless as a dock town belly dancer working a drunk crowd of bill-waving businessmen, then yawned-bare his formidable fangs. Captain involuntarily looked away, and then felt the impact of Crew bouncing up Captain’s body to stand on Captain’s chest, looking down and demanding Captain’s full attention (those fangs were pretty impressive, after all, and who knew what Crew might decide to do next!)

“Damn distracting there, Crew. I’m trying to get some sleep.” [Sleep when you’re dead, there’s mischief afoot!] “Always suspected that was your middle name.” [Get up! Open the mess, and clear me past security, I’m overdue for patrol.]

Captain did his duty and Crew double-timed it toward the shadows in the far reaches of the base terrain. Just another routine o-dark-thirty on base.