FIDDLING WHILE STEELE BURNS

BY: xffan_2000

E-MAIL: xffan_2000@yahoo.com

SUMMARY: In response to the RSFic challenge of using an under-used character from the series in a short story. Somebody has a unique point-of-view on the Steele/Holt relationship.

RATING: R

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is set sometime immediately after “Steele Alive and Kicking.” Who’da thunk that, huh? There’s also a very minor reference to “Red Holt Steele.”

DISCLAIMER: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," the actors, their agents, the producers, MTM Productions, the NBC Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.

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I know he hates it, so I rub against his leg.

I feel a gentle nudge against my ribs, pushing me away. So, I make another pass.

The nudge turns into a shove. Okay, enough for now. I trot off to the kitchen, leaving them on the sofa.

He’s here. Again. He’s been here every evening for the past week. Usually, she just comes home alone. Usually, he’s here once every couple of weeks. But recently, he’s been hanging around. A lot.

I lick my paw and try to wash away the male’s smell from my face while I think about the situation.

Maybe it’s got to do with my new friends in the kitchen.

I hop up on the counter and pass by to see how the little guys are doing. Although, I am curious as to what happened to Phyllis. Mom calls the new turtle Phyllis, but he says his name is Franklin.

Everyone seems to be doing just fine. Though, I have to remind Goldie, yet again, not to eat all those flakes at once.

Before I jump from the counter, I check the living room. Mom seems to be fighting with the male over some food. She appears to have something in her mouth that he’s trying to retrieve. They’re both growling.

I should go help.

By the time I get down and over to them, Mom seems to be winning the fight. She’s got the male pinned under her. I settle for batting at the strings on his feet. I hear him grunt, then he tries to shoo me away.

Fine. I know where he put his outer fur when he came in. He flung it right over the back of the chair. That happens to be my chair.

Know what I do to things on my chair that I don’t want on my chair?

Hairball.

Yes, one big, black fur-barf coming up. Pardon the pun.

Everything just went black! Something’s got me!

I arch myself, fluff my tail and put my ears back. I claw at it and easily it slides off my body.

It’s blue and smells like Mom. Oh, it’s her fur. She’s shedding again.

The one thing I just don’t understand is why humans shed so much. And so completely. Mom does it at least twice a day. Once in the morning and again at night. I’d hate to end up bald twice a day.

Come to think of it, that whole water-thing in the morning completely puzzles me, too. Why anyone would willingly soak themselves like that is beyond me. That flea-dip Mom made me do after I got out that one night was more than enough dampness for me, thanks.

Licking myself works just fine, thank you. No need to be dripping wet, either.

Speaking of licking myself, I was on my way to hairball that male’s fur, wasn’t I?

I jump up to the cushion of the chair and sniff at the fur draped over the back. Yep, smells like the male. Well, it’ll smell like me in a minute.

I barely get the muscles in reverse when I’m scared out of my wits again by another bit of flying fur. This time it’s from the male. My scent is already on this one. Must be the part that covers his legs.

Now I have a decision. I could hairball them both, or I could just make a bed in the new arrival.

Hairball.

Bed.

Hairball.

Bed.

Hairballs are too much work. I vote for bed. A few no-claw digs at the black fur-pile and I settle in for a nap.

Human furs are surprisingly warm, even if it does reek of the male. I tuck my paws under my chest and allow my eyes to slide shut.

I hear the male purring.

I purr much better than that. Mom scratches my chin and that’s all it takes. A few strokes across my back and some ear-scratches are better than any cat-nip.

I open one eye to see what she’s doing to make that male purr.

Strange, she’s got food in her mouth again. Only this time the male isn’t fighting her for it. He’s got his paws on her head, his claws flexing.

Really, if she wants something to eat, she should get a bowl. I have my own, but she’s got plenty of others. There’s really no need to snack between the male’s legs.

I close my eye again. Humans are such strange animals.

I am awakened by a strange noise. I perk my ears up and look around. Mom and her male aren’t on the sofa anymore. From the sound of it, they’ve gone into her bedroom.

I hear the noise again. It sounds like Mom is growling again, only a little louder this time. I wonder if the male is hurting her.

I quickly stretch, I hop down from the chair. I’m happy to note that I’ve managed to leave plenty of my own black fur on the male’s fur-pile.

I find them on the bed. I pad around to the end of the bed and hop up. The male is on his knees behind Mom, his tailless backside closer to my face than I’d anticipated. He certainly hasn’t been neutered.

Mom’s gripping the metal rails of the headboard, pushing against the male as he bounces against her. They’re both growling again.

I walk up to the pillow, sit next to Mom’s head and stare at the male, my head slightly tilted.

Really, humans. Mating? Just what we need around here. Kittens.

The male opens his eyes, sees me and stops moving. He stares at me.

I stare right back at him.

“Laura, your cat is watching us.”

Mom turns her head toward me. She smiles and reaches out to stroke my head. I nuzzle her paw as it passes. Her claws gently scratch my ears. “Ignore him, Mr. Steele.” She moves and the male groans.

“Right,” he eventually agrees.

Ignore me?

Excuse me?

I don’t think so.

I look around the bed. There’s a little foil wrapper on the nightstand. That looks like fun.

I swipe at it, sending it flying toward the male.

“Hey!” He stops what he’s doing and frowns at me. “Damn it, cat, leave that alone.” He picks up the wrapper.

“Nero,” Mom says, her hand on my back, “get down. Go on.” She gives me a little push.

Oh, fine. I jump down. But I continue to stare at the male.

“Laura...”

“Mr. Steele, forget the cat. Please.”

The male gives me a warning look, then turns his attention back to Mom. His eyes are tightly closed. I think he’s making a serious effort to pretend I’m not here.

Okay. I won’t be here. I’ll just hide under the bed.

Though, I do believe I’ll take the male’s small white fur with me.

I drag the fur with me as far back as I can go. I pluck a few holes in it, then settle down on top of it for a nap.

The bed bounces over my head.

I can’t sleep with all this noise.

I decide to slink away to my favorite spot under the piano. I hear them both yowl as I slide down the stairs.

I sure wish I had a garden hose to turn on them. Actually, I wish I had opposable thumbs so I could actually hold the garden hose.

No matter. The male will leave and Mom will be mine again. I can settle on her lap and she can lavish all her attention on me. I can purr and she can cuddle. And I’ll not have to compete with the other one.

But, oh, please, please, please...don’t let them have kittens. I can’t deal with kittens.

I settle into my favorite spot under the piano. I almost immediately fall asleep. I have been, after all, a very busy boy in the last hour.

I don’t know how long I’m asleep, but I don’t bother to open my eyes when I hear the male speaking again.

“Laura, have you seen my underwear?”

I just smile.

THE END