Sorry to be running a day late with this. The holiday season is nuts around my place (many family/friends/godkids for whom to buy presents) AND I managed to get a cold while shopping! Yay!

This will be the last set of chapters for 2019. I just know that I'm going to be even more busy and distracted for the remaining weeks of the year, so rather than torture myself about it, I'm just preemptively taking a posting break until January. Then, in theory, all should go back to normal with weekly updates until we finish with season 7 of this monster.

Also? This chapter is probably my favorite Gouda bit in the whole thing. The episode itself isn't particularly relevant – only that, at the end, Sam and Callen go out to get sushi together. The rest is just pure kitty fluff.

Enjoy!

Season 5, Episode 16: Fish Out of Water

Later he would blame drinking too much sake at the restaurant. He would lay it all on the sake, and on matching Sam drink for drink, and generally on some combination of alcohol and food coma after the night of some of the best sushi he'd ever eaten in his life that dulled his reasoning and made him susceptible. Later, the excuses would come.

For now, it was half an hour to midnight, and he was calling Hetty.

"Mister Callen?" Her voice on the phone was taut like a string — collected, calm, but ready to snap into action in an instant.

He came out with it in a rush. "I have a cat problem."

He could practically hear her blink in surprise. "A...cat problem?"

"Yeah. It's…"

"You called me this late because of the cat you claim not to own?"

"I called Sam first but he hung up on me," he said. "If you hang up on me, I'm calling Nell."

"Oh, leave Miss Jones out of your strange little dramas." She sighed. "What sort of cat problem are we talking about, then?"

"He's…well, listen." Callen held the phone out.

Gouda, helpfully enough, yowled directly into it. And not a short, gentle yowl, either. A long, drawn-out wail of objection which ended on a high screech of fury.

He resettled the phone against his ear. "See?"

"Well, he certainly has good lungs," she said, and G knew she was smiling. "Is that the extent of the problem?"

"No, see…" He ran a hand over his face. "He's been doing it since I got home tonight. Just sitting there on the back porch, making that noise. Even when I was inside."

"Well, obviously he's trying to tell you something."

"Yeah, that he wants animal control called on him." Callen flinched as the cat repeated the noise. "I don't know what to do. He's never wanted to come inside before, and he's not acting like he does now."

"Oh?"

"I opened the door and gave him space, and he just stared at me and made the noise again."

"Could he be seeking your attention, perhaps?"

He coughed. "I don't...I mean...petting isn't really our thing."

"Mister Callen, you've had this cat for so long and you don't pet him?"

"We respect each other's personal boundaries."

"Oh for the love of Gucci." She was rolling her eyes, he just knew it. "Give it a try and see what he does."

Callen was out of other ideas, so he knelt down on the porch and extended a hand.

Gouda ran to it faster than a bullet and immediately started chewing on his fingers.

"Ow!" Callen pulled them back and stood up again. "He bit me!"

"Hmm. Then perhaps there is something else. Have you fed him recently?"

"Yep, and there's water in the bowl, too." He examined his hand in the porch light, but found the skin unbroken. "He's not acting hurt or sick. Just...ticked off."

"Well, that's an emotional state I believe we share," she returned. He knew she was amused, though.

"I'm getting there myself," he said. "If he doesn't quit making that noise, I don't know what to do. I don't want him to get...cat-arrested."

Hetty sighed again. "It is obvious that your cat has some sort of need he feels you particularly can fulfill. If he is fed, and if his situation is comfortable, and if he does not seek affection, then we must be more creative." She paused. Then, "Have you showered since eating out tonight?"

"No. Why?"

"And I assume that the odor of your dinner and its leftovers is strong?"

"Are you telling me you think my cat thinks I smell bad?"

"Not at all. But I believe your problem may be one which is common to pets, toddlers, and sometimes our own Mister Beale — the desire to partake in something one had no intention of sharing."

Callen would also blame the sake for the amount of relief he felt at any possible solution, even if he wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. "What?"

"Your cat, Mister Callen, would like some of your sushi."

G stared at the cat, who let out another wail. Blinking and feeling almost numb, he turned to go back into the house. Balancing the phone on his shoulder, he grabbed his bag of leftovers and extracted a single piece of sashimi that had been intended for a later snack. Already soaked in soy sauce and wasabi, rice and all, he carried it back to the porch and set it down in front of the cat.

Gouda let out an unholy sound of glee and ate it in three bites. And licked the porch to in order to get the last drops of soy sauce and a few scattered grains of rice.

"That is not normal, Hetty. I'm pretty sure cats shouldn't eat wasabi," he found himself saying.

Her voice totally controlled and prim, she said, "If there were any cat on this planet, Mister Callen, who would be strange enough to eat wasabi, I am absolutely certain it would be the same cat which would choose your house out of every neighborhood in LA in which to make its home."

Gouda let out the wail again, pointedly looking between Callen and the spot where he had put the sashimi.

"I...guess so. But I don't have that many leftovers."

"Then I suggest you either order in or find a nearby grocery store with an acceptable selection at this time of night," Hetty said. "Either way, if you do not bring me a picture of your cat eating sushi in the morning, I will dock your pay for a month."

He knew she was absolutely not joking about that at all, and he kind of loved her for it.

"Well, looks like I'm going shopping. Good night, Hetty. And thanks."

"You're welcome, Mister Callen. Good night."

He hung up, completely certain that in one house or another in the area, Hetty was laughing herself sick.

He wasn't thrilled about the prospect of driving to a grocery store in the middle of the night for sushi for not-his cat, but it would be very much worth it if he got a good picture for her. And it would make a good story for Joelle, too.

He groaned. Now he was thinking about ways to impress Joelle. Damn.

Gouda yowled again.

"Fine," he said, pointing at it. "One problem at a time. I hope you like seaweed rolls and fake crab meat."

It turned out that as long as it contained something almost like real raw fish and had enough soy sauce and wasabi piled on, Gouda would even eat spring rolls stuffed with nothing but carrots and avocado.

Callen was officially sharing his backyard with the strangest cat on Earth.

But the pictures he sent Hetty were hilarious.