It was a shame, the Eighth Doctor reflected that Charley was quite so fond of kittens. Because if the TARDIS hadn't landed in London on Christmas Eve 1999, and if Charley hadn't dropped so many hints that she wanted a kitten for Christmas, his evening would have been much easier.
Now, to be fair, the Doctor rather liked cats, and generally they liked him very much as well. What he liked somewhat less was the idea of an undisciplined kitten running wild in the TARDIS. At moments like this one, memories of Antranak's less illustrious exploits flared brightly in his mind. But Charley had her heart set on receiving a kitten for Christmas, so a kitten she would have.
Besides, the Doctor still suffered from a tiny pang of residual guilt over the fact that he had reneged on his promise to obtain a replacement cat for Erimem. His behaviour hadn't been fair, and he supposed he owed someone a kitten, even if he was three incarnations late in getting around to the job.
Therefore, he was on a hunt for the perfect kitten. He wanted a sweet, adorable, playful animal that would cause absolutely no trouble.
The Doctor waited until Charley wandered off to take a nap before he began his work in earnest. He didn't want her to know what he was up to, and he certainly couldn't bring her along on his quest. She'd be bound to want to cart home entire litters of kittens rather than the single one he had firmly in mind. With any luck, he would be back with her gift before she even woke up.
He began to study the adverts in the newpaper he had stepped outside to buy. Unfortunately, seeing that it was the night of Christmas Eve, the Doctor soon discovered that most eligible kittens had already been claimed, or their owners didn't want to invite a stranger over during their family holidays. Nevertheless, eventually he managed to ring up three promising places and received directions to each location. He quickly proceeded to the first address, which lay just three streets away. The flat proved easy to find, and a young woman opened the door mere seconds after the Doctor rapped upon it.
"Hi, I'm Amy," she greeted him with a smile. "And this is my flatmate, Debbie. You're here to see the kittens?"
He shook hands with both women. "Yes. I'm the Doctor. The kitten is a gift for..." He stopped abruptly. Something was digging into his right calf in the manner of a red-hot poker. The Doctor glanced down. A grey kitten glared up at him, the claws of its left forepaw sunk deeply into his leg. The animal's extremely unattractive squashed face made it look like it had run headlong into a very solid lorry.
Still, the poor thing couldn't help its unfortunate appearance. And if he didn't take it, who in the world would want to? The Doctor reached down a friendly hand, only to be slashed by the kitten's spare forepaw. "Good kitty," he said tentatively. The kitten hissed and raked its claws deeper into his leg. The Doctor winced, his innate cheeriness deserting him. Someone clearly did not want to make friends.
He turned back to the flatmates. Debbie had watched the entire display with a dubious expression, while Amy was grinning, apparently falsely believing the attack had been launched in play. "This isn't the only kitten you have, is it?" he asked through gritted teeth, discreetly trying to shake the monster off of his leg.
"Nope, we have eight more just like him," Amy responded with what the Doctor felt was uncalled-for cheerfulness.
"I think I'd better see the others," the Doctor suggested. "As quickly as possible. Maybe a few of them will prove more suitable."
"That way." Debbie indicated a door to the left. "You go ahead and we'll follow in just a minute."
"Very well." The Doctor limped through, dragging the grey kitten with him. The door shut behind him. He paused in the dark corridor and felt for a light switch.
Behind him, on the other side of the door, he heard Debbie say, "Something's wrong, Amy."
"What do you mean?"
"Why do you think that man really wants our kittens? When we introduced ourselves, he didn't even give us a proper name. And the way he looked at little Smokey was so awful. Besides, why would he suddenly want more than one kitten? On the phone, you said he mentioned taking just one, and now he's talking about more than that. Do you think he wants them for something bad? Like using them as bait to train fighting dogs? That's been in the news a lot lately."
"Wow, that possibility never occurred to me," Amy muttered. "Do you really think you could be right?"
"Better safe than sorry," Debbie said decisively. "We need to make him leave as soon as possible. Alone."
Before the women could come after him, the Doctor wrenched the pesky kitten away from his leg--it did not go without a fight, taking clawfuls of his trousers and skin with it--felt his way down the dim corridor until he found an exit, and slipped away into the night. An angry yowling followed him down the street and echoed in his ears as he made good his escape.
Surely he would encounter better luck at the next stop on his list. This place, though, took quite a while to find, and the Doctor made several wrong turns before he located the plain white house that was his destination. This time, when he stepped inside he carefully studied his surroundings to make sure no bad-tempered kittens were lying in wait. In fact, oddly enough, no cats at all appeared to be present.
Mrs Welling, a tall, thin woman in her forties, suggested, "You might like to meet the mother cat first, don't you think?"
This prospect sounded good to the Doctor, as he hoped to use the older cat's temperament to gauge how her kittens might turn out. Mrs Welling led him toward a corner, her short, plump husband trailing. Only when they were a few steps away did the Doctor finally spot the pretty white cat, which lay upon a padded basket. Its chest rose and fell rhythmically as the animal slept.
"Wake her up," Mr Welling urged his wife.
"Kitty-bitty sweetums kit-kit-kit," Mrs Welling chirped in an annoyingly high-pitched voice.
"They like it when you talk to them like that," Mr Welling confided to the Doctor.
The cat's eyes slitted open. She blinked at the Doctor, twitched her tail, then closed her eyes and appeared to promptly fall back asleep.
"Oh, dear. Precious doesn't seem to like you." Mrs Welling frowned. "That is a bad sign. I don't know that we can justify giving one of her darling babies to someone she doesn't like. She might never forgive us."
"You know," contributed Mr Welling, "cats are remarkably intelligent creatures. Some might even call them psychic. If they don't like someone, usually there's an excellent reason."
Both Wellings stared accusingly at the Doctor.
"You do have a dark aura about you," Mrs Welling said abruptly. "Are you a a dog person?"
The Doctor's mind immediately turned to K9. Someting of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Mrs Welling jabbed an accusing finger and cried, "You are a dog person, aren't you? Well, not to bash dogs, but cats are much smarter and cleaner and attractive and more useful."
"That they are," Mr Welling chimed in. "And anyone who doesn't know that is not the proper sort of person to have a cat."
Seeing his chances at obtaining a kitten from these people slipping away before his eyes, the Doctor offered, "The cat wouldn't be mine, though. It's a present for my good friend, who badly wants one."
"That's even worse, then!" Mrs Welling exclaimed. "We aren't even meeting with the right person. We're meeting with a... a..."
"Middleman," Mr Welling finished for her.
"I believe this interview is at an end," Mrs Welling said frostily.
Moments later, the Doctor stood on the cold, dark street, wondering exactly what had just happened. He hadn't even been allowed to so much as set eyes upon one of the Wellings' kittens, much less bring the creature home.
Well, he had one final stop. He would just have to make sure to present himself in the best possible light and refuse to leave empty-handed. He couldn't go home kitten-less. Charley's disappointment would be too much to bear. Newly determined, the Doctor made his way to the last address on his list.
At the door, Mr and Mrs Gordon, a pleasant-looking couple who appeared to be in their late sixties, greeted him in a friendly manner. Their cats did the same. Within moments, a brown kitten was nibbling at the Doctor's fingers. Another kneaded his already-ruined trousers. A third, perched on a cabinet beside his head, batted a cunning paw at his curls. The remaining four tumbled about the room, vying for attention with their acrobatics. Several older cats sat or lay about, quietly observing the antics of their younger counterparts. The Doctor also thought he heard a distant mewing coming from a far part of the house. It seemed like the Gordons had more than enough cats to go around.
His hypothesis was confirmed when Mrs Gordon left the room to get a fresh saucer of milk. Her husband immediately approached the Doctor.
"You like the kittens, don't you?" Mr Gordon said. "Well, then, please do take two. Or three." He lowered his voice, but a hint of desperation still rang through. "Really, we're overrun by the things. I'd be forever grateful to you for any help."
"They're house-trained, of course," the Doctor said hopefully.
"Oh, yes," Mr Gordon responded, just as the brown kitten belied his words. "Well, they mostly are," he backtracked. "I mean, partly. Oh, heavens, not in the least, but you'll still take even just one, won't you?"
How hard could it be to train one of these obviously intelligent cats? the Doctor thought. "I will," he agreed.
"Bless you!" Mr Gordon exclaimed. "Please, choose whichever one you like and leave before my wife comes back. Believe me, it's for the best."
Responding to the obvious need of the poor man, and keeping in mind that he really did need a kitten for Charley, the Doctor decided, "I think the little black one will suit."
"Fine, fine." Mr Gordon reached for the kitten in question, just as Mrs Gordon stepped back into the room.
"I've been thinking," Mrs Gordon announced, fixing her gaze upon the Doctor. "The kittens like you. They really like you." From her tone, this fact did not appear to please her.
"And I like them. They're wonderful, all of them," the Doctor said with great enthusiasm.
"Yes. Well. We have a problem. You see, these kitten are like my very own babies," she said earnestly, tears welling in her eyes. "And you don't give away your children, do you? Of course not," she answered her own question. "So you see, I simply can't let you have one. It would break my heart."
Beside the Doctor, Mr Gordon quietly groaned.
"But if the kittens like me so much," the Doctor reasoned, "surely that's an excellent reason for allowing me to take one. You know it would have a good home with me."
"My babies!" Mrs Gordon wailed.
And somehow, mere minutes later, the Doctor found himself on the pavement outside the house, still kitten-less. He hadn't been able to bring himself to argue with the obviously distraught Mrs Gordon, who couldn't bear the thought of surrendering even one of the animals.
Discouraged, he plodded through the darkness, all the way back to the TARDIS. Unless he could come up with a last-minute way to procure a kitten, Charley would not get her wish.
He pushed open the TARDIS door, only to see that Charley was in the console room. Then he noticed that she was holding a furry little creature with a fluffy tail. It looked very much like a cat. The Doctor stepped nearer and Charley turned around, hugging the animal close.
"Doctor!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been? Look at my new pet! You left the newspaper in here and I saw an advert for kittens. The flat was so close, only three streets away. I thought I'd just look, but then I fell in love with this beautiful little fellow and had to take him."
She shifted her arm, and for the first time the Doctor saw the cat's face. He immediately recoiled. It couldn't be, could it? What were the odds? But the animal looked very much like the grey kitten that had used his leg to sharpen its claws.
"He's so sweet," Charley declared, cradling the kitten. The beast purred in her ear, hinting at a gentle nature, but as the Doctor approached, it flexed its evil sharp claws at him.