“Kitty, fire starboard weapons”
“Miaou”
“No Kitty, don’t play with the yarn, fire the weapons”
From the Wikipedia Galactica: Space Madness, as it is commonly known, is not, in fact, a mental imbalance caused by being in space. It is well known that cogniscents of all kinds need certain things in order to prosper, both physically and mentally. The isolation of solo missions does, of course, engender ramifications…
“Status report, Lieutenant Tibbles.”
The black-and-white cat, known officially as merely Tibbles, looked up from her basket and made a “mrrrrrrrrp?” noise.
Blakely checked the indicator board in passing to feed the cat. “Safe sound and secure. Words I like to hear, Lieutenant. There’ll be a commendation on your record.”
The cat didn’t care about commendations. She fell on her food like she’d been starved in the six hours since she’d last eaten.
“Yes, it looks like smooth—” Another indicator light started flashing. “Incoming! We have an incoming bogey vector five zero niner by four foxtrot tango. Man the guns!”
Tibbles, being a cat, began playing with a loose cable.
“OFFICER! Man your station!”
Tibbles ran for the closest hidey-hole.
“INSUBORDINATION! MUTINY! I’LL SEE YOU HANG FROM THE HIGHEST YARDARM!”
Doctor Dobelina paused the security playback. She kept her voice low and comforting. “Do you remember this incident, Miss Blakely?”
“Yes… but… not like that. My pickup ship was the enemy. Tibbles was… I think she was a Meeyahndan or… or some kind of humanoid Cat. Is she okay?”
“Tibbles is being spoiled rotten by your family.”
Blakely visibly relaxed. “Oh good. I was afraid I’d hurt her. There were dreams… they were so real…”
“The nature of reality is often subjective,” soothed Doctor Dobelina. “However, most of us prefer the version confirmed by others.”
“I’m never going out alone again, am I?”
“It… wouldn’t be advisable,” allowed the doctor.
[Muse food remaining: 11. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]