Thanks to Diney for the suggestion that got this started.
Two double drabbles (each 200 words) about whether Daniel's a cat person or a dog person.
"You make is sound like an insult. All I said was, I think you're more of a cat person."
"As opposed to what?" Daniel asked.
"A dog person," Jack said.
"A dog person?"
"Yeah, you know, like me."
"Like you? In what way are you a dog person and I'm a cat person?"
"I'm a loyal, faithful, fun-loving kind of guy."
"You scratch, drool, and release gas. Can you catch a Frisbee in your teeth?"
Carter stopped snickering when O'Neill gave her the evil eye.
"You, however, are catlike."
Daniel's pencil tapped a rapid beat on the book in front of him.
Jack twisted the collar of his shirt. "You're... intelligent, aloof--"
"I'm aloof?"
"--low maintenance." Well, maybe not. "You have a least a couple of your nine lives left."
"What?" This time Daniel's glare shut Sam up. He threw down his pencil and walked out the door. "I'm going to go find a scratching post."
Jack cleared his throat. "Do you think I hurt his feelings?"
"I think you're in big trouble...Sir." She reached for the phone
"Who are you calling?"
"The SPCA, to give them a heads-up."
Jack wondered if there was a doghouse nearby.
First, the dog biscuit on the desk. Next, the chew toy that looked like a yo yo--oh, so funny. And then the dog tags—real dog tags—on a chain. Perhaps he should just cut to the chase and bite Daniel in the...never mind.
"Have you had your rabies shots?" Jack asked, sliding in to sit beside his archaeologist.
"What for?"
"No reason."
Daniel placed a cylindrical plastic wrapped package in front of Jack.
"What's that?"
"That? That's your morning newspaper. I understand newspapers have several uses in dog training. I'm thinking of subscribing to the New York Times. At least until I get my own pooper-scooper." Daniel fidgeted with the newspaper. "Although some dogs don't take well to training. Did you know you can buy collars with prongs on them? All you have to do is yank and the prongs--"
"Okay, fine. I'm sorry." Jack ran both hands through his hair before raising them in surrender. "I give. It was a stupid thing to say."
Daniel stood up and moved to the door.
"Where are you going now?"
"To the infirmary," Daniel said over his shoulder, "to schedule my shots—and get you some flea powder."
Finis
