lllya Kuryakin was, by most standards, a patient man. He had waited most of his life for an opportunity to be free of the overlords to whom he had been assigned while growing up in the state schools; he had likewise endured a tenure in the Soviet Union's stable of disposable commodities who doubled as servants of the state.

Yes, his patient nature, albeit calculating as well, had finally granted to him the life he now lived. He was free to travel the globe as a member of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, but equally free to be a loyal Soviet citizen. He had won on many fronts, and most of it due to his ability to wait for the next best opportunity.

That patient nature was being challenged at present by a green eyed feline whose very nature was, ironically, even more patient and more calculating than the Russian trying to coax her out from the hiding spot she occupied.

The cat, whose name was Sheba and whose personality seemed to indicate she thought of herself as a queen holding court among fools, was wearing a collar that held a microdot of much interest to Kuryakin. He shared that interest with his partner Napoleon, as well as with their superior. Alexander Waverly had sent them to Spain to retrieve the svelte black cat from a collaborator whose message had read: Sheba holds key to THRUSH plot. Come quickly.

Sheba, the cat, did indeed have the key to a very insidious plot to usurp power from a Middle Eastern country whose oil reserves could provide them with money and status. Having smuggled the cat out of that unnamed country, Felix Sanchez notified his old friend Alexander that his mission had succeeded, but to please relieve him of the prize as soon as possible. Other plans needed his attention.

And so it came to be that Solo and Kuryakin took possession of Sheba, with instructions to leave the microdot in place until they deposited her into the custody of Mr. Waverly.

It should have worked. Unfortunately for the two men from UNCLE, Sheba had different ideas about her fate that did not include traveling inside of a cage with men whose speech she could not decipher. She slipped out of her carrier when one of the latches came undone, and was currently beneath the sofa in the hotel suite where the agents were staying. Being a cat, Sheba had gone to the back and was comfortably scrunched up against the wall, completely out of reach. She heard the anxious words, but not being an English speaking cat, was unable to accurately interpret the meaning. She had an idea that they were talking to her, about her and with a certain degree of exasperation.

"Welcome to my world", was her response, although it came out Meoeorowrow.

"Illya, I thought you were such a great cat person. Why can't you get her out of there? Why isn't she listening to you?" Napoleon was running out of patience. They could move the sofa, but the cat would only run someplace else. No, they needed to keep her where she was; except they needed to get her out of where she was. Napoleon was developing an intense hatred for this cat.

Illya merely looked at his partner and rolled his eyes. Cats required a degree of respect, and this one was particularly demanding. And then there was the language barrier.

"Napoleon, the cat doesn't understand English, and I do not speak Farsi. We are at a bit of a standstill here, until Sheba decides to come out. Unless, of course, we pick up the sofa and…"

They both looked at the oversized behemoth in question. It would require both of them to move it, and of course the cat would sprint to another location before either of them could lay hands on her. She knew what she had going on, and it was exactly as planned.

"I suppose you're right. How long do you think…?" Illya shook his head. As he did so a pair of velvety black paws appeared, then a nose.

"Food. She hasn't eaten in hours. Watch her, I'm going downstairs to the bar to see what they have." And with that Illya was out the door, leaving Napoleon to ignore every impulse to try and grab Sheba and drag her out from beneath the sofa. He did ignore that impulse, mostly because the first time he tried it the cat had taken a good amount of skin as she resisted with all of her might.

Illya returned a few minutes later with a small dish that he immediately put on the floor, a few inches away from the sofa. The paws extended slightly, the nose became her entire face until, finally, Sheba crawled out on her belly with eyes set on the bowl of raw tuna. She looked at Illya, a newfound appreciation of this one now reflected in her eyes. She thought he might be acceptable; he had brought her food after all. The other one… time would tell.

Illya petted the black cat appreciatively, gaining her trust with his soothing voice and the offering he had made. Napoleon just shook his head; he was anxious to get her loaded up and be on their way. The UNCLE jet was standing by, the prospect of a smooth trip home entirely likely.

Back in New York, the threesome entered UNCLE Headquarters like old friends. Sheba had ceased yowling and was now looking forward to her new life with the pretty blond who had won her heart. At least that was her assumption.

The collar was removed and sent to Section IV for analyzation and confirmation of its contents. Sheba did not resists, but kept her eyes on Illya as though for support as she was plundered of her lone possession. She then approached him and waited for him to pick her up. He hesitated, prompting her to mew tenderly, imploringly almost.

"My, my my… I do think Sheba has a little kitty crush on you, Illya.' Napoleon found it humorous until he looked at Mr. Waverly's face.

"Er, well… I don't suppose… We aren't going to return her to her owners are we?" Even Napoleon found that a disagreeable thought.

"No, no we won't do that. In fact it would be agreeable, acceptable… Mr. Kuryakin, should you wish to … um, adopt, as it were… the uh… the cat."

Illya looked at his partner and then his boss, and finally at Sheba. She was still concentrating on him, perhaps attempting some mind control she had learned as a kitten. She could learn to speak his language, but for now she would have to persuade him this way.

"I suppose… if it is necessary to do so… sir. Yes, I … ' He looked at Sheba, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Yes sir, I shall be happy to take Sheba home with me." Illya stroked her head, picking her up then as the meeting had closed on that commitment.

As for Sheba, she was pleased with her success. All of it was her idea of course, and now she would go home with the man she had chosen. And what a fortunate man he was.