Domestic Containment Failure

Posted on Sun Nov 23rd, 2025 @ 3:18pm by Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren

1,438 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Second Light
Location: SB 369

// Sidra’s Quarters //

Sidra stepped off the lift onto the residential deck, feeling the long day settle between her shoulders. She had spent the last several hours buried in fleet-level reports, diplomatic updates, and the sort of administrative minutiae she could only tolerate through stubbornness. All she wanted now was a quiet check-in with Will and a moment to breathe.

She approached the door to her quarters. It opened with its usual soft hiss.

The first thing that greeted her was silence. Not true silence, but the half-settled quiet of a space recently vacated. The lights were at a middling level. And the living area… she stopped mid-step, letting her eyes sweep across the scene.

Shoes. Multiple pairs. Scattered like debris from a minor explosion.

Two socks that absolutely did not match.

A shirt thrown across a chair as if it had attempted to land somewhere else entirely and failed.

A bowl on the low table with something stuck to its interior that might once have been noodles.

The large display unit in the living room paused on a lecture, a PADD in the middle of a blanket she distinctly remembered folding flat that morning.

Sidra closed her eyes for one long, steady breath.

“Will?” she called.

“Shower!” came the reply from across the expansive quarters, muffled from the distance, but cheerful and oblivious.

She moved farther into the room, gathered a few dishes, stacked them out of habit, and was considering whether to launch into a lecture or wait until after dinner when something brushed at the edge of her awareness.

A flicker of motion.

Low. Soft. Quick.

Sidra straightened, every instinct she had ever trained sharpening in an instant. Her gaze tracked toward the floor, the chair, the shadow beneath it.

Something furry darted into hiding.

She crouched slowly, steadying herself with one hand on the floor as she leaned to look underneath. And then she saw it.
A very large, very fluffy brown-ticked tabby stared back at her with golden eyes, tail fanned out behind it like some sort of triumphant banner. The creature blinked once, unafraid. Entirely at home. Entirely out of place.

Sidra blinked back.

There was a long, silent beat where several realizations tried to land at once. She had not left her door unsecured. She had not authorized anything with fur. And this animal was far too comfortable to be lost. Which meant the stationwide stray-cat problem she had been assured was under control was, in fact, not.

Her jaw tightened very slightly.

Before she could process further, footsteps slapped softly on the deck. Will emerged from the hallway, hair still wet, skin pink from the warmth of his shower.

“Oh,” he said with zero alarm, “you met her.”

Sidra rose to her full height, calm in a way that was its own warning. “Will.”

He braced, but only a little. “Before you say anything…”

“Will.”

He ran a hand through damp hair. “Da said yes.”

Sidra’s expression did not shift. “When? He is not on the station.”

“I called him,” Will said, as though this were a reasonable solution. “He said you’d never agree, and he was making an executive decision.”

Sidra stared at him. Then at the cat now hopping confidently onto the arm of the chair. Then her eyes swept the teenage stamp he had put on her orderly quarters.

A muscle in her cheek twitched.

The broader situation clicked into place. The station’s containment efforts were clearly failing. The Station Commander had insisted progress was being made. And yet here she stood, staring at a fugitive feline that had apparently walked itself straight into her quarters.

This was going to reflect very poorly on his next review.

The cat lifted its chin as though in greeting. Will smiled that too-familiar half-grin.

Sidra inhaled slowly.

“This conversation is not over,” she said.

Judging by Will’s expression, he believed otherwise.

The cat blinked, smug and content.

Sidra set the dishes down with exaggerated care and exhaled. Suddenly, her quarters did not feel like the safe, tidy space she depended on. Her husband was off-station, blissfully unaware of the chaos he had sanctioned. She had been missing his presence mere hours ago; now she was irritated on principle. She did not even like cats.

“I want to know exactly what your father said about this cat,” she said.

Will sighed loudly, stopping just short of rolling his eyes. Her green eyes narrowed in quiet warning.

“He said she’s my responsibility. Feeding, cleaning, appointments, training.” His voice shifted as the mood finally registered. He began picking up items from the floor in scattered attempts to clean.

The cat, perched on the chair like royalty, groomed a paw with absolute confidence.

Sidra crossed to the bar, briefly considering the whisky she wanted. Instead, she reached for the kettle. As she filled it, she shot the cat a side-glance.

“And how did this come to be? She…” Sidra paused, studying the creature. “She is very comfortable.”

Will shrugged. Evasive. Typical. “She’s been hanging around the promenade. Some of us have been slipping her snacks after class. She started following me. I decided to let her in today.”

“You did,” she said, flat and unimpressed.

“And then I confirmed with Da,” he countered.

Of course he had. Those two shared a bond that could topple governments if they ever coordinated their efforts. Sidra was not often on the losing end of anything, but somehow she had been outmaneuvered before she even knew she was in the fight.

“I do not know the first thing about cats,” she muttered.

The kettle clicked off. She poured hot water over the tea leaves in her strainer, watching them bloom as steam rose gently in calming swirls. The scent of chamomile eased the tension crawling across her shoulders.

Will grinned with more confidence than she appreciated. “You’ll learn. They’re not half as complicated as the things you deal with every day.”

Sidra gave him a look. “Which is exactly why I prefer my home to be free of complications.”

Sidra settled back with her tea, letting the warmth ease the edge off her irritation. Will lingered near the couch, watching her with a mixture of caution and hope.

“You named her already, didn’t you,” Sidra said.

Will’s face brightened. “Rowan.”

Sidra blinked once. “Rowan.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s Scottish. And she’s kind of got that… forest look? You know? Brown and… leafy. And Rowan trees are supposed to ward off bad spirits.”

Sidra looked at the feline in question, who was currently perched on the armchair like she was preparing to judge an entire tribunal panel.

“Will,” she said dryly, “I doubt any spirit sees that creature and thinks twice.”

He huffed a laugh, shoulders relaxing a little.

Rowan hopped down from the chair and ambled toward the hallway that led to her bedroom, tail high, making her intentions very clear.

Sidra sat up straight. “No. Absolutely not.”

Rowan paused, glancing back at her with mild confusion.

“You are not allowed in my bedroom,” Sidra said firmly, pointing toward the living area like she was addressing a junior officer who had wandered into restricted space.

Will winced. “She… uh… might not understand that.”

Sidra turned her eyes on him, cool and precise. “Then you will make it clear to her. You told your father she was your responsibility.”

He sighed, trudging after the cat. “Rowan, c’mon. Not in there.”

Rowan sat in the hallway and blinked at him as if she had just been told a deeply amusing joke.

Sidra watched over the rim of her cup. “Your first test. Good luck.”

Will crouched, snapping his fingers gently. “Rowan. Hey. Let’s stay out here, okay?”

The cat rose, turned around with an air of reluctant grace, and walked back into the main room, hopping onto the chair with the dignity of someone who had chosen to obey purely out of boredom.

Will dropped into the opposite seat, defeated. “She’s gonna be trouble.”

Sidra sipped her tea again. “She already is.”

Rowan curled her tail neatly around her paws, staring at Sidra with slow, deliberate blinks.

Sidra met her gaze. “Do not even think about it.”

Will cracked a smile. “You’re mad.”

Sidra shook her head, settling deeper into the cushions with her tea. “Not mad. Irritated. Mostly at the state you left this place in.”

Her eyes drifted to Rowan, who blinked serenely.

Her gaze shifted to the cat. “You,” she added, “are just the cherry on top.”

Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren

 

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