It was a Tuesday, but it was just another damn day to Gregory House. His alarm went off too early, as usual. His leg hurt, as usual. He hadn't gotten enough sleep, as usual. He sat up gingerly, swinging his left leg down and then his right, the no-good one, which he left tapping in an unsatisfied manner on the floor. He reached up and scratched his head, and was just reaching for his cane when he heard it: the silence.
"Steve?" he called.
Steve McQueen, his rat, had lived with him maybe six months. There were some bad memories about the time when he brought Steve home, but House had grown fond of the thing despite himself. He lived in a cage with a big rat wheel out in the living room. Steve was usually awakened by the sound of House's alarm and would stir to action, and House could almost always hear the sound of him on his wheel, or of his sharp little rat teeth chewing on a toy or a piece of cardboard or of the rattle the little water bottle made against the wire cage. This morning, there was nothing.
"Damn rat," muttered House as he grabbed his cane from where he had hooked it over the footboard of the bed the night before. He angled and stood up, wincing against the first sharp pain of the day. Soon enough there would be Vicodin, and the pain would be pushed back again. But first, the rat.
House limped slowly out into the living room, yawning. At least the automatic coffee maker was already going. Best piece of machinery invented by man, the auto-timer coffee maker. As long as you remembered to set it. He glanced over at Steve's cage. Steve lay on the bottom, still.
"Shit," House said as he made his way over to the cage. "Steve? Stevie? Steve-o?" The rat didn't stir. House poked a finger in at Steve, and he didn't jump up to play. Steve wasn't ever going to jump up to play again. House's expression moved rapidly from disbelief to anger, taking only the slightest pause at sadness. If you blinked, you would have missed it.
"Great," he said, as he turned back to the kitchen nook. Once there he found what he was looking for – a goodsized plastic container. He moved slowly back to Steve's cage and popped Steve's already-cooled body into the Gladware, shutting it with a snap and more barely audible muttering. He put the container on the counter and said to it, as he turned to his coffee pot, "We're going to find out what did you in, Steve."
House walked into the hospital entrance and headed to the elevator with a determined gait and practiced scowl. His mind was already cycling through possible causes of death, and he growled at the one nurse who tried to intercept him with a chart. "Patient died last night. Emergency autopsy," he glanced around, then continued in an exaggerated stage whisper, "looks like the hospital might be negligent."
He smiled smugly as the nurse scurried away, clearly eager to share the news. Glancing at his watch, he calculated it would be no more than 3 hours before Cuddy stormed into his office demanding an explanation. He hoped she was wearing one of her low-cut blouses today. Anger did good things for Cuddy, especially since it tended to result in a spectacular display of heaving breasts. He'd have to let Wilson know so he could be there for the show, too.
Walking into his office, House saw his ducklings engaged in animated discussion, presumably over a chart Foreman had open on the table. He tossed his briefcase onto his chair, and walked into the conference room, still carrying Steve's makeshift coffin. "I'm already bored," House announced, cutting off Cameron.
"Is that a dead rat?" Foreman asked incredulously.
Chase shook his head as he choked back a laugh, "Please don't say that has anything to do with your hooker from last night."
"This is a good case," Cameron insisted, glaring at Chase before gesturing to the whiteboard. "You have to at least hear us out."
"What have I told you about using the whiteboard? All those loopy Gs better be gone before I get back."
"Where are you going?" Cameron demanded.
House ignored her, deciding to take the long way to Wilson's office.
"You know a lot about rats," House said without preamble, handing the Steve's container to Wilson.
"What!" Wilson sputtered, dropping the plastic container as if it was on fire. "You brought your dead rat into a hospital?"
House rolled his eyes, tapping his cane impatiently. "Yeah, can we skip the part where you blame everything from the bubonic plague to global warning on rats? I know that bit already. You knew that rats only sweat through their tails. What else do you know?"
"You realize you've gone completely insane," Wilson said with a sigh, absently rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the small corpse.
House cocked his head toward the door. "Bring Steve & come help me with the autopsy."
"I have patients," Wilson protested, his voice starting to rise. "I can't help you autopsy your pet."
"I'll make it worth your while," House said, "I can guarantee some primo Cuddy breast action later."
"I don't even want to know what you did," Wilson sighed, standing, "and I'm not carrying the dead rat."
Lisa Cuddy looked up as she heard some sort of hubbub in her disused front office. The Rutgers kid just hadn't worked out. Couldn't file for a damn, answered the phone too fast, just no good. Overeducated, really, and only helpful for sudoku hints. She saw two agitated nurses percolating their way over from the clinic. She stood as they reached her door and she beckoned them in, brushing down her fabulous peach-colored suit with attractive cream blouse, cut low enough to keep things interesting. Maybe she should look for another overeducated young man to answer her phones just a bit slower.
"Let me guess. House," she said before either nurse could get started. The nurses exchanged wry smiles.
"Well, what's he done now?" Cuddy asked. "Shirked clinic duty again? Authorized fifteen more expensive tests on that one comatose guy he seems weirdly obsessed with? Terrorized the obstetrics lounge or the maternity ward again?"
"Actually," piped up the nurse who had intercepted House carrying Steve's corpse that morning, "he said something about a patient death, an autopsy, and the hospital being at fault!"
"But he was wearing that adorable leather jacket again," chimed in the second nurse, fanning herself with a patient folder she was clasping. The nurses giggled like schoolgirls.
Cuddy rolled her eyes. "All right, thank you for the report. I don't know what he's talking about, I don't even think he has an active case right now." She waved the nurses out of her office and smiled. He was wearing the leather jacket, eh? Wonder if he was still wearing it down in the morgue? That in and of itself might be worth a surprise visit.
"Fine," snapped House, "if you don't want to carry the dead rat you're going to have to get the other supplies."
Wilson took a step away from his desk where the Gladware container holding the former Steve McQueen still lay. "What do you mean, supplies? They got special rat-sized scalpels hidden somewhere? Find them yourself!"
House raised his eyebrows in an exasperated manner, and said, "You know, supplies. Snacks. Funyuns, I think they'll do. Steve always liked Funyuns."
"I think you just pinpointed cause of death," Wilson noted dryly, reaching to pull out his wallet to see how much he had in the way of Funyun funds.
"Oh, you." House teased. "Hello? This is a RAT. You know, they live in sewers and eat candy wrappers as a gourmet feast? Have been known to gnaw corpse eyeballs? Dine upon rotted flesh? Make a meal of…'
"Okay, okay!" yelled Wilson, not giving House a chance to finish. "You didn't poison your rat with snack food. But you're going to poison us. Hell, I haven't had breakfast yet. Meet you down in the morgue."
Grinning, House snatched the container with Steve's mortal remains and started to make his way slowly out to the elevators.
"Seriously," said Foreman, stretching in his chair, "dude had a dead rat with him."
"Probably something he found on the sidewalk on the way in," noted Chase. "Or something he killed with his cane."
"Guys," Cameron pleaded, "Can we get back to this patient's chart? And I'm sure it wasn't really a dead rat. Was it?"
"It so was," said Foreman, pulling himself up to the table again. "But you're right. Down to business."
"Sure you don't want to wait for House to get back from harassing Wilson?" asked Chase, pen hovering over the Times crossword.
"Hell no," said Foreman. "He doesn't want to work, he's got tenure, whatever. But that doesn't mean we can't do this one ourselves. Looks like we've got a couple of options here, let's look at this MRI the referring physician sent."
Chase and Cameron listened as Foreman set out the case. Cameron felt like something was wrong, that they were going behind House's back somehow, but Foreman had a point. They were doctors in their own right. Maybe if she could come up with a diagnosis on this one and stick to her guns, House would finally give her some credit.
"Look, are these bone tumors?" House asked, prodding at Steve's leg.
"Could be," Wilson shrugged.
"You're supposed to be my best friend," House snapped irritably, "you could at least pretend to care that my dearly beloved pet, my one constant and loyal companion is dead."
"I thought that was me."
"It used to be you. But Steve had a cuter nose, and he could even twitch it."
"Just how much Vicodin have you had today? You realize you're not even making sense."
"Beloved pet? Dead? Distraught? Are you following any of this?"
"Well, if it's bone tumors, the likely cause is pesticide poisoning," Wilson said mildly, opening the second bag of Funyuns.
"Nothing indicated that in the bloodwork I did after finding him in the attic."
"Might not have been recent exposure." Wilson said as his pager went off. "I've got real work. You might want to think about doing some of yours before Cuddy finds you down here."
"Just leave the Funyuns, would you? I can't believe you ate all the HoHos."
"I'm going home," House announced as he walked into the conference room.
Cameron stared in disbelief at the plastic container. "Oh my god, that was a dead rat. What did you do to it?"
"Where's Foreman?" House asked suspiciously.
"He's, er, with the patient," Chase said uncomfortably.
"The patient?"
"It's a good case, she needs our help," Cameron said, forcing her focus away from the dissected rat.
"Is this a mutiny?" House asked incredulously.
"I knew this was a bad idea," Chase muttered under his breath.
"Then you should have stopped it," House snapped. "And there are still loopy Gs on my whiteboard. Look. I'm going to be going home early. I've got a funeral I need to organize and attend & a house to search. I dropped off some specimens at the lab. Page me as soon as they send the results. And get that patient assigned to another attending."
Chase stared in disbelief as House stalked into his office, slung his briefcase over his shoulder & limped out at a fast clip.
"A funeral?" Cameron asked weakly. "For the rat?"
"He's finally gone completely insane," Chase marveled, torn between horror and amusement.
Cuddy reached the morgue only to find no trace of House except crumpled Funyuns bags and HoHo wrappers in the biohazard bin. She sighed. He was cute, but boy was he a pain in the ass. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty to do, Dean of Medicine wasn't exactly code for "babysitter," and it was getting so ridiculous…
She fumed as she caught the elevator back up and strode down the hall to House's office. In the outer office she ran into Cameron, looking worried, and Chase, looking nonchalant. House had closed the vertical blinds separating his office from the outer one.
"Dr. Cuddy," Cameron began as she entered.
"What is it, Dr. Cameron? I'm here to see Dr. House," Cuddy said, barely slowing down on her way to the door.
"It's just that he…" Cameron stuttered.
Cuddy turned and stopped. "What did he do now? He already was talking about some wrongful death suit this morning, and…"
She was cut off by a snort from Chase. Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him. He really did have to get a personal shopper one of these days, amazing he lived to this age without learning to dress himself. "Dr. Chase?"
"I think the two incidents are related," Chase said, nodding toward a Gladware container on the table near the whiteboard. Cuddy strolled over and recoiled as she saw the freshly-necropsied rat. After a moment, she composed herself and grabbed the container. With a steely glint in her eye she strode into House's office.
Wilson strode down the hallway on the way to his consult. He was still shaking his head in disbelief at Greg's antics this morning. Wilson had thought it strange at first when Greg kept that rat for "tests" at first and then as a pet. But when he saw that Steve kept Greg a bit more relaxed at home, that the rat afforded him someone to "talk" to at odd hours, Wilson thought maybe a pet was a good thing. House wasn't a cat or a dog type of person. The rat had actually been a stroke of genius. But to be so upset!
Deep in his thoughts, he didn't see Foreman striding down the hall in the other direction. Wilson walked right into him.
"Hey! Oh, Dr. Wilson," said Foreman, readjusting his lab coat.
"Dr. Foreman," Wilson nodded, waking up out of his distracted thoughts.
"Have you seen House yet this morning?" Foreman asked, thinking it was a good bet Wilson had.
"Yes, I had a consultation with him this morning," Wilson noted.
Oh, so now they're calling it a consultation, eh?, thought Foreman to himself as he said, "Did he have a dead rat with him?"
"What? Oh, yeah, that. It was his pet. It died last night and House wanted to see what was wrong with it."
"His pet? House had a pet rat?" Foreman was incredulous.
"Yeah, he picked it up about six months ago. Said it had some weird head-tilting problem, he ran some tests, wound up keeping the thing. Now he thinks he must have missed something in the tests, or the lab messed them up, because the rat's dead."
"Of…?"
"What looks like cancer. Though, House is running more tests to be sure."
"He's running tests on a grown rat that died of cancer? Hasn't he heard? Rats get cancer pretty much like clockwork once they're about three years old."
Wilson nodded and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I know, but tell that to House in his mood. Look, he'll get it out of his system quickly enough. Sorry, I've got a consult."
"Sure, yeah, thanks," Foreman muttered as he watched Wilson continue down the hallway. He was stuck on something Wilson had said. The thing about head tilt. Hadn't House consulted with him on a patient with head tilt a few months back? Was it really a rat all that time?
Foreman shook his head. He really shouldn't be surprised by this stuff anymore. He moved on towards his patient's room.
"Dr. House!" Cuddy snapped as she walked into his office. She halted almost immediately. All the blinds were drawn and the lights were out. Mournful-sounding classical music was emanating from the iPod set in its speakers on the desk. House was laying on the floor with his feet propped up on the desk chair, eyes closed, gently conducting the music with one hand. Upon her entrance he opened his eyes and stared at her.
"What are you doing with that?" he asked angrily, noticing the Gladware container in her hands. He propped himself on one elbow.
"With your dead pet rat that you brought into this office and used valuable hospital resources on? What am I doing with that?" Cuddy had her wits about her again and strode over to House's desk while brandishing the container with Steve's mortal remains. She turned the iPod off and the room fell into silence.
"Yes!" House grabbed his right leg and eased it down from the chair. He straightened himself and stood, slowly, wincing. "What are you doing with that when it clearly doesn't concern you?"
"Everything about this hospital concerns me, Dr. House," Cuddy said evenly. He was wearing the blue shirt again. No sign of the leather jacket. "Now I'm sorry for the loss of your pet, but I cannot begin to list how inappropriate this is."
"The Gladware's all I had handy," House muttered as he rubbed his temple and reached for the Vicodin bottle in his pocket. He tapped two out onto his palm and dry-swallowed.
"It's not the CONTAINER that's inappropriate!" Cuddy said in agitation. House glanced appreciatively toward her neckline. Wilson's missing all this, he thought ruefully. "It's the use of the morgue! It's bringing a possible disease vector into a hospital! It's the…"
Before she could finish, House raised his voice. "No one in the morgue cares that I used it for five minutes, why should you? I have kept the rat in a secure container, and can assure you he has no disease, or at least the tests six months didn't indicate anything, and he hasn't been out of his cage since. IF the tests are proven wrong, then THIS hospital will have to answer for any infection."
Cuddy's eyes grew wide. "TESTS? You used this hospital's lab to test your PET RAT?"
Cuddy started ticking off another list of inappropriate things House had done lately, her latest indignation fueling the fire. House closed his eyes. Despite the fine view afforded him by Cuddy's attire, he had a headache that would simply not go away.
"…have misappropriated time, possibly our most precious resource, and have possibly exposed our testing equipment to contamination…"
"Dr. Cuddy." Something in House's tone made her stop short.
"Dr. House?" she asked.
"Every word out of your mouth is like an axe to my skull this morning. I have a headache that won't quit. Can we resume your shrill ranting at some more convenient time?"
Cuddy narrowed her eyes in concern. "Headache? How much Vicodin have you had today?"
"Why is everyone so concerned with my dosage this morning? I. Have. A. Headache." House said with finality.
Cuddy shook her head, but slipped out of House's office anyway. She couldn't talk to him when he was like this. He was being odd, even for House.
As she entered the outer office, Foreman walked in. Chase looked up and said, "Oh, by the way, House wants you to hand that patient off and work on his case."
"What case?" asked Foreman.
Chase nodded at Cuddy, who looked down and noticed she was still holding the Gladware containing what was left of Steve.
"He wants us to drop this for the RAT?" said Foreman.
Cuddy set the container down gently on the table and pushed her sleeves up. She went back to the door to House's office and pushed it open. His blinds were open again but House was nowhere to be seen.
Pissed that he had to leave Steve behind, House gunned the bike, neatly cutting off a minivan. The honk vindicated his mood and reaffirmed his hatred of humanity in general and soccer moms in particular. Cuddy would kill him, but missing his clinic hours made an imminent death worthwhile.
As he pulled into the alley behind his house, he cursed to see a moving van blocking the entrance to his small backyard & driveway. He stopped short & honked irritably. Just as he was about to blare it again, a woman came out of the house next door & hurried toward him.
"Oh, are we blocking you in? I wasn't sure the truck was even going to make it back here, it's rather tight."
Despite her frazzled appearance, House couldn't help but notice her almost shocking beauty. Dark, lustrous hair, shot with honey, caramel and red highlights, danced around her shoulders and gently framed her face. Her skin was pale and almost ethereal in its rosy-hued perfection. Of medium height, she was slender with amply curvaceous hips and breasts. Her most striking feature, though, were her dark violet eyes.
Shaking his head against his brief reverie, he forced a scowl. "No, of course you're not. Honking at parked moving vans is just a hobby of mine."
Raising an eyebrow, she said drily, "You do dripping sarcasm awfully well. I don't suppose you offer lessons."
House gave her a long, even stare, his blue eyes burning icily. "I want this van moved now," he finally said, biting each word out with venemous enunciation.
"But menace is obviously your real skill," she said in a tone of exaggerated awe. "I'll go grab one of the movers."
He nodded and crossed his arm, enjoying the sight of her lush, taut ass filling out a pair of worn jeans. A minute later she was back with an enormous man that House felt was surely proof of the missing link. Shooting House an annoyed glance, he gestured to the ramp leading to the truck & the boxes and furniture sitting on the pavement. "Cut us a break & park on the street. We'll be out of here in a few hours."
"Do you know how hard it is to find parking on this street?" House barked, unsnapping his cane to brandish it threateningly above his head. "And I'm a cripple. Parking blocks away doesn't work for me." Glaring at his new neighbor who seemed only amused by him, he adopted a hurt tone. "Any my pet rat died this morning."
Unable to surpress laughter any longer she covered her mouth and tried to disguise it as a cough. "Go ahead, just move the van, Larry," she said apologetically. "We'll be out of your way in a minute."
House nodded, smirking smugly at Larry.
"I'm sorry we got off to a wrong start," she offered apologetically and held out her hand. "I'm your new neighbor, Belle."
Ignoring her hand, House tried on his best withering stare. "I'm not exactly in the mood for neighborly chit chat. I'm sure you have things to unpack."
"I do," she acknowledged, trying to suppress another grin. The man was angry and clearly an ass, but for some reason she couldn't help but be amused by him. "I'll go do that. Sorry to hear about your rat."
"But not sorry I'm a cripple?" He asked challengingly, snapping his cane back into place.
"No, I think you've got that one under control by yourself," she said drily, then turned and walked back to her house. House glared at her retreating back, slightly impressed with her despite himself. "I'm probably just blinded by that ass," he muttered, excusing himself. Glaring as Larry finished moving the last box into the yard and began raising the ramp, he started up the engine and revved it impatiently.
Cameron ducked out of the office after Cuddy stormed off to look for House. Foreman and Chase were already sniping at one another about dropping Foreman's case for the case of the rat, and she knew she wasn't going to be heard even if she could get a word in edgewise.
The situation clearly called for pastries.
She made her way down to the cafeteria and picked out a cinnamon bear claw. Noting the unseasonably beautiful weather outside, she decided to sit out on a bench and eat it. She tossed her hair and squelched a twinge of guilt at not getting back to the office. I've got my pager on if they need me, she thought defiantly, besides, that rat's tests won't be back for hours.
She sat on a bench near a bike rack, on a small patch of grass. She closed her eyes and leaned back, fully enjoying the bear claw experience.
Soon her reverie was interrupted by a strange noise. She heard a bike being shackled to the rack and opened her eyes. A small boy, no more than ten, was chaining his dilapidated bike, paying close attention to the basket on the back which held a small cardboard box. He looked over and saw her looking, and smiled. Grabbing the box, he rushed over.
Oh no, thought Cameron, now I'm going to be stuck buying whatever the Cub Scout equivalent of Girl Scout cookies is.
"Pardon me, ma'am," said the earnest young lad, dirty blond hair poking out from behind his slightly outsized ears, "but would you be interested in adopting a kitten?"
A kitten! That explained the strange noise! Leaning over the box, which was mewling pitifully, Cameron saw two small kittens, a lively gray tabby and a shy calico. The tabby was trying to eat the calico's ear. Cameron's heart melted just a little bit.
"Oh, aren't they adorable," said Cameron, reaching in to touch the soft fur. The tabby stopped trying to snack on his sister and turned to bat at Cameron's finger.
"It would be great if you could take them both!" the boy enthused. "Missy had four kittens but my uncle took the oldest two, they were matching orange stripey. My mom says it's better if they can stay with a brother or sister."
"Don't you want to keep any of them yourself?" Cameron asked the boy, who seemed enthralled with the kittens.
"Sure, ma'am, but we already have Missy and Spigot at home, plus my little sister really really really really wants a dog, so we can't really have three cats right now." He looked crestfallen. "Or four, 'specially, since it would be nice to keep them together."
"Well, now, that really is probably too many pets!" Cameron agreed. She laughed as she watched the shy calico finally make a move and take a swipe at her brother's tail. The boy looked, a hopeful light shining in his bright green eyes.
"You'll take them, won't you ma'am?" he pleaded. "I can tell you like them, and I've been trying to find someone nice to take them, all day, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do if I can't find someone soon!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Cameron pulled back from watching the kitten's antics. "I live in a building where we're not allowed to have pets. They're very cute and sweet and I'm sure they would make great pets, but I really can't take them." The boy looked crushed at her words. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes.
Suddenly, Cameron had an idea.
Dr. James Wilson rubbed his temples as he left the consult. The pediatric cases were the hardest. Oncology was a tough enough field when you were dealing with adults with a lifetime of experience behind them. Wilson knew that his staff called him in on these consults because of his skill in dealing with the bereaved. It's true, he could present even the worst news in a way that was almost pleasing, and that people seemed eager to trust and confide in him. But it was exhausting, telling people day in and day out that they were going to die.
He glanced at his watch. Nearly lunchtime. Out of habit, he started towards House's office. When he got there he found it empty. Strange. He started down to the cafeteria, smiling a little with the promise of having his lunch all to himself that day. Still, eating alone was boring, and it was such a beautiful day. As he passed Cuddy's office he thought he'd pop his head in to see if she wanted to grab a bite. He paused outside her door as he could see her talking on the phone and gesticulating angrily. On her desk, he noticed the Gladware container with House's dead rat.
I don't even want to know how she got that, he thought, backing away. He knew better than to interrupt Cuddy when she was on a tear.
Wilson made his way to the cafeteria, resigned to eating alone. On a whim, he got his meal to go instead of on a tray, and took it out into the beautiful day, where it was far too warm and pleasant to actually be January in New Jersey. He was walking toward a bench near a favorite, if now leafless, tree, when he heard someone call his name.
"Dr. Wilson! Dr. Wilson, wait!" It was Cameron, holding a little cardboard box. What was she up to? He paused while she caught up to him.
"What's in the box, Dr. Cameron?" Wilson asked.
"Oh, well, it's…" she trailed off. Was it his imagination, or did the box move?
"Yes?"
"Well." She took a deep breath, and forged ahead. "You know how House's pet rat died?"
Wilson stared at her. There was definitely a scratching noise coming from the box. "Yes," he said slowly, "I procured the Funyuns for the necropsy, actually. What's in the box, Dr. Cameron?"
Cameron cradled the box with one arm and ran the fingers on her other hand through her hair. "I was thinking," she said, "that it must be tough on him, living alone, to lose his only companion like that. Rats are good pets but it's hard, because they have such short life spans. If he got another rat…"
"'Another rat'?"
"If he got another rat, it would just die in another few years. So maybe…" A new sound came from the box.
"Dr. Cameron, that box meowed."
"What? Oh, this? Yes, it, um," more mewling and scuffling came from the box. Sighing, she opened it and held it out to Wilson.
He glanced in at the young animals and smiled. Clearly littermates, the kittens looked up at him and mewed simultaneously, like they had rehearsed it. Then Wilson snapped his head up at Cameron, the spell of the kittens temporarily broken.
"Instead of a rat you want to give him TWO KITTENS?" Wilson exclaimed, a look of disbelief on his face.
"Well my building doesn't take pets, and he's lonely, and…"
"What about House says 'kitten' to you?" Wilson asked. "What, out of everything you have ever seen or heard House do, led you to the conclusion that House needed not only A kitten, but TWO kittens? Is it his warm heart? His sensitive nature? Have you had recent head trauma?"
Cameron smiled sheepishly at Wilson. "The little boy was heartbroken over them," she began.
Wilson sighed. He took another tack. "Well, House isn't even here, so far as I know. What are you going to do with them for the rest of the day? You can't keep them in the hospital."
Something in Cameron's expression changed. She looked at him hopefully, expectantly.
"Oh no," Wilson said. "You don't…"
Five minutes later Wilson was walking toward his car with his lunch in one hand and a box of kittens in the other.