When Clara found the Doctor, he was speaking with a large, spotted, bipedal cat with tawny eyes. This animal wore a rather natty waistcoat over rolled up shirt sleeves. He grinned when he saw Clara, revealing a row of small, sharp teeth.
"Hullo, Miss. Shine your shoes?"
Clara noticed the row of gleaming shoes at his feet.
"Nesboro likes to keep busy," explained the Doctor. "Nesboro, this is Clara Oswald. Clara, this is Nesboro of the Fanged Grimalkins."
Nesboro held out his paw, which Clara took. His claws, Clara noticed, were neatly manicured.
"Oh, the Doctor mentioned your species!" she said. "You like tea with lemon."
"Indeed we do, Miss. I make a very nice cuppa, even if I do say so myself. Now – how about them shoes?"
Clara slipped off her shoes. "That's very kind. But please, call me Clara."
"But that wouldn't feel right, Miss. Not with you possibly being my new owner and all." He made a hawking noise in his throat, and spat a gob of saliva onto the soft calf leather of her newest pair of burgundy wedge heels.
"Spit polishing. Charming," said Clara weakly.
"Don't you worry, Miss," said Nesboro, taking a cloth and rubbing her shoe. "The saliva of a Fanged Grimalkin has natural cleaning properties, and is completely sanitary. Gets your shoes sparkling in no time."
Sure enough, the grime of the streets quickly dissipated from her shoe. It looked as clean as it had the day Clara bought it. Nesboro spat on her other shoe, humming cheerfully as he worked. Once over her initial revulsion, Clara found herself liking him.
"So. Nesboro is willing to be your housekeeper, as well as your pet," said the Doctor.
Clara didn't quite know what to say. "Really? That's, um, very kind. But totally not necessary. I can clean up after myself, more or less."
"No trouble, Miss. I like to earn my keep. I dust, sweep, vacuum, cook, wash dishes, change the light bulbs, collect your mail, clean the bathroom and scrub the floorboards."
Clara laughed. "Well, my landlord's going to love you." Nesboro handed her back her shoes, which she put on. They even smelt great – fresh, with a faint trace of lemon. "But…" she didn't quite know how to say it, "I was looking for a pet to, well, pet." She felt the Doctor's eyes on her, and blushed a little. "You know, someone to curl up on my lap while watching TV."
"Happy to do that too, Miss. Or you can sit on mine, if you like. Us Grimalkins are adaptable like that."
Clara thought. Apart from the lap-sitting part, she was willing to give Nesboro a try. "Do you have any requirements? You um, don't need me to bathe you, do you?"
"No, Miss. I'm very low maintenance. Wash myself, sleep on the floor, and I know how to use an Earth-designed bathroom. My diet is very simple. None of your kibbles, if you please. All I need is tea with lemon every day, and a nice human bone once a week."
"Sorry," said Clara, blinking. "Did you say human bone?"
"Yes, Miss. The fresher the better. So I can suck the marrow right out of it."
There was a long pause.
"Are you planning on sucking my marrow?" asked Clara cautiously. She gave the Doctor her best 'shall we start slowly edging away?' glance, but he didn't seem too perturbed.
Nesboro laughed. "Gracious no, Miss. It's against our code to eat our owners. But if you have an annoying neighbor, or a local tramp, or a superfluous postman, that would be most handy."
"Oh dear. There's always a catch," said the Doctor.
"Nesboro," said Clara. "Thank you for shining my shoes. But unfortunately, you can't be my pet. There's this… Thing."
"A Thing," agreed the Doctor.
"What Thing?" asked Nesboro, confused.
"I… only drink coffee," said Clara. "No tea. No lemon. Sorry."
Nesboro closed his eyes in dismay, and Clara and the Doctor took the opportunity to sidle away, into the crowd.
"How did you not know that Fanged Grimalkins eat human bones?" asked Clara, fuming.
"The topic never came up," protested the Doctor.
"Doctor, why don't we just go home? I don't think we're going to find a suitable cat in this marketplace."
"Then let's try elsewhere," he said. "There are other feline species on this planet that live in the wild. Let's have a quick look."
Reluctantly, Clara followed him out of the markets. The streets ended, and before long, they were walking across open ground; over tussocks of grass and stony soil. Scrubby trees dotted the landscape. The sounds of the marketplace faded behind them.
"Not seeing any cats," Clara remarked.
"Try looking up."
Clara did so. And gasped. Perched on a low branch of a tree about twenty metres away was the cutest, fluffiest kitten she'd ever seen. Midnight black, with enormous green eyes. It mewled at her piteously.
"Doctor, look! Isn't it gorgeous?"
The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "Clara, be careful. It looks innocent, but you don't know what it's capable of."
Clara ignored him. "Do you think it could be stuck?" She approached the tree. "Hey there. Are you okay, sweetheart?" She was aware her voice sounded cooing, and she heard the Doctor snort. "You don't have to be afraid of me. Do you need somewhere to live? I have a lovely apartment back on Earth."
Then she stopped. Blinked. Was it her imagination, but did the kitten appear to be growing? She took another few steps towards the tree. No, it was definitely getting bigger. Its limbs and torso were lengthening, broadening; it now had the appearance of a large house cat. A rather irritated house cat too. Its tail swished, and its eyes had turned yellow. Clara moved forward again. The creature grew before her eyes; the branch dipped alarmingly under its weight. Its mouth drew back in a snarl to reveal a row of sharp incisors, and its eyes now had an orange cast.
"Ah, Clara, just step back."
For once, she obeyed the Doctor, and moved backwards to rejoin him. As she did, the cat shrank in size, until she was once more staring from a distance at a mewling kitten.
"I don't get it! What was that? It just… changed."
The Doctor put on his Sonic Sunglasses and scanned the kitten. "It's a Feline Demonicus," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "A species that changes in size and aggression, depending on how close one gets to it. From a distance they're completely harmless, but up close, they're dangerous. Very dangerous, Clara."
"Doctor, what's it doing?"
The kitten scampered down the tree, hit the ground, and padded toward them. Already, it was growing again.
"I think we should just back away, nice and slowly," said the Doctor.
The cat picked up pace. Clara saw claws sprouting from its elongating limbs.
"Faster" said the Doctor.
But the Feline Demonicus was closing the gap; growing larger, muscle thickening over its body, eyes yellow again, hissing and spitting.
"Clara. Run!" yelled the Doctor.
Clara was only too happy to oblige. She and the Doctor ran, dodging trees and rocks, glancing over their shoulders only to find the cat still pursuing them.
And then the ground dropped away, and Clara found herself teetering on the edge of a steep drop. The Doctor pulled her back, just in time.
"Okay. Cliff. Not good!"
"Not good," agreed the Doctor.
The Feline Demonicus sprinted towards them, now the size of a panther.
"Doctor, is there a plan?"
"Yes. Yes. I think so."
The creature's eyes were red coals. It roared in triumph. Clara saw its muscles tense, ready to spring.
"Now would be a good time to-"
The Doctor slammed into Clara, knocking them both flat to the ground. She glimpsed a black blur as the giant cat streaked overhead, into the space where they had stood. Then – nothing.
For a moment they lay still, Clara shielded by the Doctor's body. This close to him, she noticed the soft, creased skin of the Doctor's throat, and breathed in his aroma; fresh like the ocean, old like rare Scotch, and something else indefinable and alien but not unpleasant. She felt his two hearts, beating fast against her own chest.
Then he scrambled up, and pulled her to her feet. She became aware that her back ached from the fall, and her left elbow was badly grazed.
"Sorry," said the Doctor, still breathing hard. "Only plan I could think of."
"It went over the edge. Is it dead?"
They peered carefully over the cliff. At the bottom sat a tiny black kitten, mewling helplessly at them.
The Doctor did a quick scan. "Innate hovering ability. It would have floated to the bottom." He glanced at Clara. "Perhaps not the right pet for an apartment."
Clara backed away from the cliff, and started walking back toward the marketplace.
"So, shall we crack on? Look for another cat?" said the Doctor.
His cheerful tone grated. Clara realised she was close to tears. Not to mention tired, bruised, and absolutely over this planet. "No. I just want to go home."
This trip had been a complete disaster. And she still didn't have a cat.