The Ever Mysterious Nomenclature of the Suicidal Feline
By Kaj-Nrig

Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix. I use these characters without permission.

Cait, why's your name so weird?

Why do you have an accent? And what KIND of accent is it? That's got to be one of the most seriously messed up voices in the history of indiscernible, high-pitched squealing.

And why does your owner keep you like some weird little pet? It's kinda disturbing, y'know? A grown man with a dinky little stuffed animal in his arms all the time... doesn't exactly send the right message.

Especially when you're trying to save the world from a bunch of thugs in blue spandex. Ugh, the nausea of it all...

I wonder if he goes to sleep with you. Y'know, like some sort of stuffed kitty-cat that sings lullabies to him in that screechy, "aye lassie" voice of yours.

What the hell does "lassie" mean, anyway?

I wonder, sometimes, how she can manage to fit herself into that outfit. But when I do that, I end up looking at my own attire and wonder why I haven't changed it in... a long time.

I almost miss the blue suits of the old days, back when I didn't have to worry so much, back when all I had to worry about was how to make the best of a dwindling Urban Development budget and which suit to wear to work. Back then, it was simple.

I didn't make him, contrary to popular belief. He was the product of one of Gyaa Ha Ha and Kyaah Ha Ha's many odd jobs. I still wonder what the Engineering department thought when they heard, "I want you to make us a robotic cat that can tell fortunes."

Scratch that. I asked one engineer once, when I recognized him in the Sierra's engine room. He gave me an odd look and replied, "You mean Cait? We built him outta scrap metal from the Slums. I sure as hell never thought he'd survive up to now."

Scrap metal, the lousy flake! How could he so casually dismiss my most trustworthy companion!?

When I brought THAT question to one of my underlings - I believe it was the Kisaragi girl - she too gave me a queer glance. She snatched Cait from my soothing arms, quite against his protests, and, like an Amazonian she-bat from the depths of hell, vigorously began passing him from hand to hand, throwing him up into the air to catch him with one hand, then repeating the motion back to her original hand.

Looking calmly at me, that irritatingly mocking glint in her eye, she responded, "Trustworthy companion? You left him to get smashed and squished into a tiny little mini-Cait, Reefer." Insulting me, she then turned to my dearest Cait and continued, "I don't understand why you stick with him, Cait. How's about you an' me become a ninja duo, huh? Bravely looting all the world's Materia."

She pressed the panicking dol- I mean she pressed the panicking autonomous infiltration expert against her chest and squeezed, and for my life, I could not help but notice how Cait's eyes seemed to bulge and he gasped for breath. Myself, I promised to review the video recording to judge what was wrong with his optical circuits.

I eventually did manage to get him back from her, but by then she had found another interest in once again pestering the young Shelke as she passed sullenly by on her way to Vincent's room.

It strikes me as strange that one as young as Shelke should be so smitten by one as old as Vincent. It also strikes me as downright indecent that he should allow her so freely into his sleeping quarters. Granted, her resting chamber and revitalization equipment also lie in the room, but I must admit I have my suspicions about the two. Yuffie's quick little snippets of conversation with her - all of which seem to deal with her "getting his gun out," whatever that means - only served to make the poor girl flustered and she rushed into Vincent's room in an even more frenzied gait. The door closed and there was a loud and vigorous series of slamming noises as no doubt her equipment started up. That machine is always so loud, and she always seems to need Vincent's help in turning it on; it also costs so much money to maintain. Perhaps I should dock it out of her weekly paycheck.

But, alas, that brings me back to the subject of clothes. I have just recently acquired a new pair of footwear for my bipedal feline, as well as a night-hued cape that I believe matches my own perfectly, which will help in concealing him.

It's almost kinda funny, ain't it, Cait? Vinnie, that crazy old bat, and I mean that literally, I mean, did you see those awesome-looking Bat Wings of Death that popped out when he went all Uber-Chaos? managed to snag someone like Shelke. Can we say "Eew, grossness"? I mean, c'mon, not only is she like five years old, but she's banging a fucking corpse.

How much nastier can it get? Ugh, I feel seasick AND airsick when I think about what they're gonna still be doing five thousand years from now...

Speaking of which, Cait, how long are you gonna last? I mean, your expiration date's gotta be approaching, right? I haven't seen Reefer change your batteries for as long as I've known ya, and it's been nearly four years now. Do you even HAVE batteries?

...wow, four years. That's kinda cool. It's been fun knowing you for all that time. Well, except for the time when you royally fucked us over and led us on that stupid chase through the Gold Saucer. Do you have any idea how scared out of my mind I was? I mean, we were up a gazillion kilometers above the Planet, chocobos were flying around on some lame excuse for a track, which, by the way, looked like it was gonna break apart at any moment and force all of them stupid lil' birdies to do something with their wings other than flap 'em around for no reason. Hah, suck on that, ya stinkin' oversized chickens. And I'm pretty sure the entire Gold Saucer was suffering from some serious rot. I mean, honestly. You don't have a giant ten thousand billion-story building like that without having some sort of iron I-beam rusting over and over and then all of a sudden snapping and sending everybody to their fiery and admittedly awesome-looking doom. Not me, of course. I'd be riding the wind like some super goddess or something. Some ninja goddess. Super Seiyan Bombshell Ninja Goddess. Yeah, I like the sound of that.

But back to my point. Besides that little itty-bitty incident, you were a pretty cool customer. You couldn't fight worth a damn, that's for sure, just like the old guy controlling you - Zing! Score one for the Super Seiyan Bombshell Ninja Goddess! - throwing those crappy little dice of yours, but man oh man, were you funny as hell.

Honestly, though. What the hell's up with your voice? Did the engineer that made you stick a whistle in your windpipe or something? Maybe a kazoo?

Kagemusha. It is a Wutainese word meaning "shadow warrior." In an attempt to further understand Yuffie's skills and the length of her abilities, I have bestowed it upon myself to learn as much about her culture as I possibly can.

I find that the term fits her especially well. She is an especially adept ninja... but only when she wants to be. Unfortunately, the girl only seems to want to be an "exceptionally adept ninja" when it involves prying Cait from my hands and subjecting him to excessive torture.

Perhaps she appreciates a kinship with the poor fool. He is certainly a kagemusha in his own right. Not many units before him have been able to perform such extraordinary feats of espionage, and only he was able to infiltrate a heavily-armed stronghold like Mako Reactor 0. It was only too unfortunate that he was lost then, as well.

I saw her one day and mentioned just that. I had been expecting the young woman to be impressed by my deductions, but I only received a long, drawn-out stare followed by a long, drawn-out peal of laughter.

"Oh my gawd, Reefer! You've got to kidding me! TWICE!?" She laughed and, shaking her head while clutching at her ribs, walked past me, supporting herself on the wall of the Sierra.

It was only after she started speaking again that I noticed what was gone. "I gotta hand it to you, Cait, you are ONE devoted little pussy cat!"

I turned, righteously outraged. "Unhand him, Yuffie!" Cait, for his small part, protested quite venomously, scrabbling at Yuffie's nimble and lithe arms with his paws.

She held him close to her chest like a mother cradling her infant, and shook a finger at me condescendingly. "Ah ah ah, Reefer. If I give 'im back to you, you'll just make him go suicide himself again! 'Sides, I got a question to ask the little twerp!"

And with the grace of a dead gazelle, Yuffie twirled around and around and around like some human merry-go-round. Eyeing up my furry companion, she eloquently asked, "Cait, did Reefer put a dying rat in your throat?"

I snatched Cait from her swirling fingers and proceeded to my room.

A/N: ...and that's it. Not much at all; I tried to write this pairing conceivably, but it's just not working for me.