The Whispurr Omnibus The Whispurr Omnibus is a collection of stories about Admiral Ozzel’s cat set mostly during TESB in the New Canon continuity. It started out as a single one-shot but then it expanded with a second story, a project for a third and an entire hutch of ever-breeding plot bunnies. So far, it consists of the following stories: 1. Feline Trouble (below) 2. Princess Seeks Scoundrel for Long-Term Relationship ♫ ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Title: Feline Trouble Timeframe: The first twenty minutes (or so) of TESB Genre: Humour Length: One-shot Characters: Firmus Piett, Kendal Ozzel, OCs. Continuity: New Canon Notes: This story is a repost from my old Chyntuck’s Ramblings thread, where you will find the original reviews and replies. It was written for the 2014 Dare Challenge off the prompt supplied by SatineNaberrie (behind the spoiler tag). Spoiler I dare someone to write a story where Admiral Ozzel brings his cat abroad the star destroyer and it causes lots of trouble for the crew. Requirements: 1. Cat refuses to use litter box. 2. Cat must not be killed.3 Admiral Ozzel doesn't see anything wrong with his kitty while everyone else gets mad. Feline Trouble The Executor dropped out of hyperspace to receive the transmissions sent by the hundreds of probe droids that Darth Vader had launched across the Galaxy in his hunt for the Rebel Alliance. Standing near a bank of monitors on the bridge, Captain Piett couldn't help but notice that the musky smell that seemed to accompany Admiral Ozzel everywhere he went these days was wafting towards him again. Moreover, the Admiral had been oddly unkempt lately. His uniform was slightly crumpled and his lap was often studded with tiny streaks of white. His orderly is in for a rough time if Lord Vader ever gets wind of this, Piett thought grimly. The swoosh of the closing turbolift doors brought another whiff across the hallway. Ha. No pun intended. Anyway, it’s a good thing Lord Vader breathes filtered air. If he’s going to lose his temper again, I’d rather it not be in front of me. Firmus Piett was not a bad man, nor was he a coward. He was ambitious, certainly, and he knew when to duck to avoid the Dark Lord’s fury, but he didn't wish others any harm. Except Ozzel, that is. The man was such a pompous moron, and, to add insult to injury, he’d been promoted to Admiral under circumstances that were shady at best – capitalizing on his family connections, no doubt, Piett thought bitterly as he reminisced about his own, humble beginnings on Axxila. Well, you’d expect someone with that sort of ancestry to polish their boots, wouldn't you? But then, a crumpled uniform isn’t quite enough to warrant a death sentence, and it’s a sad fact that Lord Vader’s never heard of the brig. Then again, Ozzel should know that turning up in front of the Dark Lord of the Sith in anything less than a perfectly crisp uniform is about as stupid as challenging a Wookiee to hand-to-hand combat. The absolute silence that reigned on the bridge was broken solely by Vader’s heavy footfalls and the murmur of the Admiral’s conversation with General Veers. Piett shook off his train of thought to focus on the monitors where the information relayed by the probe droids was displayed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, he thought as he flicked from one report to the next. The Galaxy’s a big place. Finding a Rebel base in there is like looking for a grain of sand on Tatooine. He let out a small sigh of frustration and was going to let the crew continue on their own when a fragment of a video caught his attention. Feed me to the fishes of Naboo, he muttered to himself. This is it. This is my chance to make a good impression. He hurried up to Ozzel as Darth Vader came closer, the sound of his mechanical breathing echoing now ominously across the bridge. “Admiral.” Ozzel spun on his heel to face him. There was a thin cloud of silky floss floating in the air around him. “Yes, Captain.” Piett struggled not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. Kriff, what has the man been up to? Sharing a steam bath with a Hutt? “I think we've got something, sir. The report is only a fragment from a probe droid in the Hoth system, but it’s the best lead we've had.” “We have thousands of probe droids searching the galaxy,” Ozzel snapped with his insufferably haughty manner. “I want proof, not leads!” Piett peeked over Ozzel’s shoulder. He’s within earshot. Let’s hope the filter in his breathing mask isn’t a legend. “But, sir, the Hoth system is supposed to be devoid of human forms.” He held his breath to avoid inhaling any more of the stench. How can Veers stand it? Darth Vader’s black mask turned towards the screen, where the fragment showing a base on an ice world was playing in a loop. “You found something?” Please let this be the real thing. “Yes, my lord,” Piett answered as firmly as he could. Vader studied the image for a moment. “That’s it. The Rebels are there.” Ozzel shot Piett an angry glare. “My lord, there are so many uncharted settlements. It could be smugglers, it could be...” Doesn't this man know when to keep his mouth shut? Piett thought in exasperation. He’s going to get it one of these days if he keeps playing kick-the-rancor, and I don’t want to be around for it. The Dark Lord interrupted the Admiral before he could dig himself any deeper. “That is the system. And I’m sure Skywalker is with them. Set your course for the Hoth system. General Veers, prepare you men.” The faintest of smiles curled Piett's lips as Lord Vader turned around and left with a swish of his cape. Ozzel shot him another furious look. “It seems we will find out today how Lord Vader rewards those who take him on a wild bantha chase, Captain,” he said with his perfectly clipped Core World accent. “I suggest you retire to your quarters during the jump to hyperspace, to make any necessary... arrangements regarding your private affairs.” Piett didn't wait to be told twice - it would have been most undignified for the Captain to serial-sneeze on the bridge, and this... stuff around Ozzel seemed to be triggering an allergic reaction. He bowed politely and made his way to the area of the ship where the senior officers’ quarters were located. He saw a housekeeping droid exit Ozzel's rooms as he dug in his pocket for his keycard. The whole ship is going to the dogs, he thought. This droid is creaking and wheezing as if it hasn't undergone maintenance since the fall of the Old Republic. He took a step closer to look up the droid’s serial number and was pulling out his comlink when the whirr became louder. There was a sudden, loud crackle and he found himself engulfed in a cloud of smoke while the exploding machine showered him with sparkles, dust and goo from all its orifices. He started sneezing and coughing so violently that he thought he would spit his brains out. “This is the Captain,” he shouted in the comlink when he finally managed to catch his breath. “I want a maintenance technician and the laundry service up here, double-time.” ***“My most sincere apologies, sir,” the chief maintenance technician said. “Our logs show that this droid was checked for malfunctions less than a week ago. I can’t really explain what happened.” Piett buttoned his jacket. He had the distinct impression that the sonic hadn't quite removed the stench from his hair, and he was still shaking with anger. “Can you at least tell me what that was?” The chief technician glanced at his datapad. “The diagnostics show large quantities of hair and some form of sticky organic matter, sir.” He hesitated. “Actually, it looks like faecal matter, but I’m a bit baffled because it’s not human.” Piett arched an eyebrow. “Non-human faecal matter on the Empire’s flagship?” “Yes, sir. It’s a problem we've had since we left Coruscant. I fear we may have a pest infestation of some kind. This was” - he eyed his datapad again – “the third droid that broke down for the same reason in the past month. And what’s strange is, it was always droids allocated to the senior officers’ quarters.” What in the blue blazes...? “Well, why don’t you find out what’s behind it,” Piett snapped. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you make sure that the Admiral’s rooms are cleaned by a functioning droid. I assure you better hygiene would not be a luxury.” The Admiral... Piett stopped dead in his tracks as a sudden thought crossed his mind. What if Ozzel's unkemptness was not the consequence of an infestation, but the source of the problem? Surely, the scion of a proud Caridan family couldn't be that much of a slob. But this is Ozzel we’re talking about, he reminded himself. Anything is possible. He dismissed the chief technician and ordered the Admiral’s orderly to join him in his study. Crewman Maneas seemed rather distraught when he arrived in the Captain’s private office, but Piett had no time to concern himself with the young man’s personal issues– he needed to update his will, for kriff's sake. He couldn't however ignore the scratches on the orderly’s cheek or the frayed fabric of his jumpsuit. “Would you care to explain your appearance, crewman?” he asked glacially. Maneas blushed. “I’m sorry, sir. I just had a minor accident in Admiral Ozzel's room, and I didn't have time to change. You said to come straight away.” Piett's nostrils were itching again. He sniffed the air cautiously. Yes. It’s definitely not coming from me. “Your diligence is appreciated, crewman. Now would you care to explain this smell?” The crewman’s blush darkened. “What... what smell, sir?” “Let me spell it out for you, crewman. Can you tell me why I seem to have developed an allergy to Admiral Ozzel, to anyone or anything related to Admiral Ozzel, and most importantly to the housekeeping droid that exploded on its way out of Admiral Ozzel's quarters?” Maneas went from beet red to deathly white. “The housekeeping droid exploded?... Sir?” “Yes!” Piett shouted. “It exploded! In my face! Will you tell me what is going on?” Maneas looked at him miserably. “It’s because of the cat, sir.” Both eyebrows shot up. “The what?” “The cat, sir. Admiral Ozzel’s cat.” Piett took a deep breath, then cursed himself for it as he was shaken by another coughing fit. “Are you telling me that the Admiral brought his cat on board? And you've been feeding its litter box to the housekeeping droids?” “Not quite, sir. It’s a bit... difficult sometimes. It refuses to use the litter box.” This can’t be happening, Piett thought. I’m the captain of the Imperial Navy’s flagship, and I just got showered in cat poop because of that stupid, moronic, stuck-up nerf herder. “Admiral Ozzel's cat is... relieving itself wherever it chooses in Admiral Ozzel's quarters,” he said in disbelief. The crewman swallowed. “Yes, sir.” There was an ominous silence. “Here’s an idea for you,” Piett said. “You are going to take the cat to the nearest airlock and space it.” “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that,” Maneas said shyly but firmly. “Admiral Ozzel is very fond of his cat and would be very upset if I lost it. Besides, it’s a rare breed of Caridan angora. Getting him a replacement would cost a year of my wages.” By now, Piett didn't know whether he should laugh, cry or scream. “Get out of here now, crewman,” he yelled in fury. “And be sure that if I ever hear about that cat again, or worse if I ever smell it, you’ll find out more about the brig than you ever hoped to.” He waited for Maneas to leave and took another deep, calming breath before he switched on his datapad. He’d barely accessed the document he was looking for when someone let out a wail of despair in the hallway. “What is this ruckus?” he thundered as the door slid open. Crewman Maneas was standing outside Ozzel’s quarters. He was on the verge of tears. “It’s the cat, sir. It escaped.” That’s the best piece of news I heard since this morning, Piett thought. No, wrong. It’s the second best piece of news, I found the Rebel base after all – although that one’s still TBC. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I need to update my will, just in case. “Well, go and find it, crewman. I’m confident you don’t need to be a tracking animal to follow the scent.” “You don’t understand, sir,” Maneas whispered with pure terror in his voice. “The cat left that way.” He pointed at the hallway leading to Darth Vader’s hyperbaric chamber. I take it back. That’s not good news at all. “Get. That. Animal. Now.” Piett enunciated, emphasizing every word. Maneas hesitated. “That was an order, crewman. Get that cat now, or go to the brig.” There was a pause. “I’ll take the brig, sir. Should I report there straight away?” ***Piett’s mood was absolutely foul by the time Ozzel called him back to the bridge. A squad of very angry 501st stormtroopers had been scouring the Executor for the duration of the jump through hyperspace – the Emperor’s finest looking for a cat hours before a decisive battle! – but the bloody animal remained invisible, although it had left a steady trail of hairs, puddles and droppings for them. I can’t believe I spent what could be my last living hours posting housekeeping staff in every corner of the hallways leading from Lord Vader’s chambers to the bridge instead of updating my will. And when I comm Ozzel to tell him about it, he asks me to make sure that his kitty’s okay. It’s lucky I didn't give him a piece of my mind, I’d be facing a court martial now – and there’s no way in hell I’ll be court-martialled by that pontificating prat! “You will be pleased to hear that our hunch was likely correct, Captain,” Ozzel said pleasantly. Our hunch? Our? “There is an energy field protecting the sixth planet of the Hoth system. It is indisputably a military installation.” Piett’s heart leapt in his chest –I found it! I found it! – but he kept his composure. “Shouldn't we have come out of lightspeed on the outskirts of the system, sir? The Rebels must be aware of our presence now.” Ozzel snorted. “You have much to learn, Captain. Surprise is wiser in such circumstances. General Veers is informing Lord Vader as we speak.” The viewscreen flickered to life behind them, revealing Lord Vader’s black silhouette. Spinning around, Piett saw an armour-clad stormtrooper waving at him and pointing at a spot near his feet. No! No! No! Not now! “Lord Vader,” Ozzel started obsequiously. “The fleet has moved out of light-speed, and we’re preparing to...” He suddenly gasped for breath and clutched his throat with both hands as his trachea was crushed by an invisible force. “You have failed me for the last time, Admiral,” Vader said. “Captain Piett.” Piett tore his attention off the cat that was now purring and rubbing its body against his legs. “Yes, my lord.” “Make ready to land our troops beyond the energy shield and deploy the fleet so that nothing gets off that system,” Vader ordered. “You are in command now, Admiral Piett.” Admiral Piett? I like the sound of that. “Thank you, Lord Vader.” Focus now. Focus. He’s still watching. He turned crisply towards the crew and glanced warily at his feet. Ozzel had crumpled to a lifeless heap on the floor, but the cat was still there. A very pretty cat indeed, he thought fleetingly before he relayed the Dark Lord’s orders. I need to seek treatment for this allergy.