Cat and Mouse

"It's a new Section 8 scheme," Radar said out of the corner of his mouth.

"I can see that," Hawkeye replied, staring at the spectacle.

It was perhaps Klinger's wildest idea yet, and that was really saying something. A pair of black pointed ears sat atop his head, long whiskers jutted from his cheeks, and a curled tail was somehow attached to his butt. As Hawkeye and Radar watched, he was languidly licking the back of his hand.

"Cat," Radar noted, still talking out of the side of his mouth.

Hawkeye nodded. "Obviously." He studied the corporal for another minute before adding, "Not a bad tail, but the ears could be better." He took a step closer and reached out to touch one of them, but Klinger hissed at him.

Honestly hissed.

Hawkeye took one giant step backward, holding up his hands. "Have it your way, Klinger. Ride this one as far as it'll go. I'll just sit back and enjoy the show from the cheap seats."

"Klinger!" Potter barked as he frowned. "Get off my desk, and stop licking yourself! Not necessarily in that order."

Klinger gracefully jumped off Potter's desk, landing on the chair opposite the colonel. He turned around a few times, then sat, letting out a small "mew."

"Now then. You really seem to be committed—no pun intended—to this idea that you're a cat. Nobody's heard you say anything other than 'meow' for two days now. That's all fine and dandy, Klinger, but if we get casualties in here, I'm going to need a medic, not a mouser. You got that?"

Klinger looked at him and slowly blinked. No answer. Potter couldn't say he was surprised. The corporal was taking this particular scheme to the extreme. Not talking, at least not in English… only eating fish (and only when the dish was put on the floor)… even coughing up a hairball (Potter still didn't know how he'd managed to pull that one off). Yeah, this one was definitely going to the top of his list of "Wait'll I Tell Mildred About This."

"All right then, I'll take that blank look as a yes. Now get on out of here and, uh… do whatever it is you felines do."

Potter could only shake his head as he watched the black tail disappear through his door.

"Sidney, I really don't know what to make of it," Potter said into the phone. "He hasn't spoken to anyone—not a single word."

"Just meowing, you say?"

"That's right, and an occasional hiss. And last night during the movie, Zale pulled his tail and he let out a yowl. Then he scratched Zale right across the cheek." He sighed. "You know me, Sidney. I can usually poke holes in his little ploys… usually within a few days, I've got him yelling 'uncle.' But not this time. It's been almost a full week now."

"You'll figure something out, Sherm."

"I'm not so sure this time. The lad really seems to think he's a cat!"

"Give it a few more days. But if you need me to come out there, just give a call."

During the fourth hour of surgery, Hawkeye wondered out loud, "Someone wanna tell me how it's possible for a guy who's acting like a cat to actually be a pretty damn good medic at the same time?"

"Other than the fact that he's meowing instead of talking, he hasn't missed a step," B.J. agreed.

"I have to wonder," Father Mulcahy piped up, "if he hasn't really gone over the edge this time. God forbid, of course… but let's be honest. It's been a week, and he hasn't stopped acting like a cat for even a minute."

"There's even a litter box in his tent," Hawkeye remarked.

"Heavens!" Father Mulcahy said. "See what I mean?"

From the table at the far end of the room, Potter spoke up. "Yeah, I have to admit, he's got me flummoxed with this one. It doesn't seem to be a gag anymore, does it? Maybe the poor boy really does need some help." He sighed, and then called out, "Radar! Get that Section 8 paperwork out of the filing cabinet, PDQ."

"I'm tellin' ya, Sparky, it's spooky," Radar said. "Col. Potter actually filled out the Section 8 forms, in triplicate, and Klinger just sat there watching and purring. I think it's really gonna happen this time."

"Naw!" Sparky sounded incredulous. "Really?"

"Col. Potter's about at the wit's end of his rope. He doesn't know what else to do. This one has gone on longer than anything else he's ever tried to pull. I mean yeah, he wore dresses for years, but at least he was talking and acting like a normal person while he did it. Now all he does is meow and drink milk out of saucers and curl up in a ball to take naps in the sun. It's weird."

"Radar!" Potter's booming voice emanated from his office, interrupting Radar's phone call.

"Gotta go, Sparky. But I'll keep you posted." He hung up and ran into Col. Potter's office. "Yes, sir?"

Potter was sitting behind his desk, Hawkeye across from him. They both looked very serious. "Go get Klinger for me, would you? I'd like to see him right away."

Radar sensed something was up, but he couldn't tell from their expressions what it could be. "Yes, sir," he said, and scampered off.

"It's the responsible thing to do," Potter said as Klinger strolled, in his cat-like way, into the office.

"Yes, Colonel, it is," Hawkeye replied earnestly.

"Oh, Klinger," Potter said as he looked past Hawkeye and gestured to the new arrival. "Come on in, son. I mean, here, kitty kitty."

"Hey Klinger," Hawkeye said casually, "I like your new bell."

Potter leaned over the desk to get a closer look, a gleam in his eye. "Hmm, I have to assume that somebody else made that cute collar for you, since cats don't have opposable thumbs." His eyebrows shot up questioningly.

Klinger only sat down on the floor and scratched behind his ear, appearing indifferent to the conversation.

Potter let it go. There was more than one way to skin a cat. "Well, reason why we called you in here, Klinger," he said carefully, "is that it may take a little while for your Section 8 paperwork to go through all the Army red tape. You know the drill, or you used to, before you became a cat. So in the meantime, we—Hawkeye and I—feel that we need to protect you as well as all the stray cats that live around the camp. It's the responsible thing, you see."

Klinger stared, blinked. His interest seemed to be piqued, though it was kind of hard to tell. Potter looked at Hawkeye then back at Klinger, before finally dropping the bomb. "Capt. Pierce here is going to neuter you," he said matter-of-factly. He watched as Klinger's eyes grew huge.

Spreading his hands, Potter went on, "Just a little snip-snip. No big deal. It's the right thing to do. Don't want the camp to be overrun with litters of kittens, now do w—?"

Klinger bolted up from his seated position and took a step backward. "Forget it, forget it!" he yelled. In English. He held his arms out in front of him, as if to keep the doctors away. "I aint no cat! I give, I give!"

Hawkeye grinned and exchanged a look with Potter, who shook his head and said, "Aw, Klinger. So very, very close this time. I mean it, the paperwork was all filled out and on its way. What a shame."

But Klinger was still reeling from his close call. "You two stay away from me, you hear?" He kept backing away until he reached the door, then he turned and dashed through it.

Hawkeye turned to his accomplice and laughed. "Brilliant idea, Colonel. Worked like a charm."

Potter moved to the liquor cabinet to pour a couple of congratulatory drinks. "I gotta admit, Pierce, that boy really had me going this time. It took a while, but once this thought came to me, I knew I'd gotten 'im." He laughed. "A neutering? Hell, Klinger's a lot of things… but he aint crazy."