A couple of people (mud_in_your_eye
) have asked me about my avatar. When I tell them that I just drew it one day, and threw the Starfleet Insignia on his shirt to break up the monotony, and then colored it red 'just because,' they always seem unsatisfied. So, although you'll never find me in one of them "Multi User Hissy Fits," and I probably won't ever role play the character, because such is not my way, here is the backstory of Ensign Katz.
Captain Prescott of the USS Articles Of Confederation (NCC-1777), had been going through "red-shirts" at an alarming rate. It seemed like he was losing two or three per away mission. The reports were thick upon the desk of Admiral Scott, who had worn a red shirt through his entire career, surviving only because of his command-level position. He sifted through them.
Ensign Karlsen: Shot with a Romulan phaser. Ensign Smith: Skewered by a battleth wielded by a friendly but clumsy Klingon. Ensign Schwartz: Crushed by an avalanche of sentient rocks. Ensign McClintock: Dissolved by an acid secreting alien that was just trying to say "hello." Ensign Al-Basri: Shagged to exhaustion by 72 alien nymphomaniacs chanting "brain and brain, what is brain?" in unison. And so it went, page after tragicomic page.
And also on Admiral Scott's desk was the inevitable corollary: a personnel requisition from Captain Prescott. Scotty picked up the personnel file of one Ensign Michael Katz. Ensign Katz was descended from Old Mr. Johnson's
famous cat, one Maxwell Katz (who was also the owner of a quite famous silver hammer). Ensign Katz's remarkable resilience was legendary in Starfleet. He had already survived 5 away missions with Kirk, and by some miracle, whenever McCoy had pronounced the words "He's dead, Jim" over Ensign Katz, there Ensign Katz would be when they beamed back up, demanding of Dr. McCoy just what he had meant when he said "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian!"
Admiral Scott pressed a button on his desk. "Lieutenant Anderson, send Ensign Katz in please."
The door slid open and a bipedal cat walked into Scott's office. He spurned the chair, leaping instead onto the old-style CRT that Scott, ever the antiquarian, used as a visual interface.
"Katz, how would you feel about an assignment to the USS Articles of Confederation?"
"You mean 'Ensign-Killer' Prescott's ship?"
"Yes, it would seem a good fit for your unique talents."
"You know my terms."
"Hazard pay for the duration, then. It's less expensive than paying a death benefit every time Prescott gets curious about some rock."
"And plenty of catnip in the hydroponic garden. From what I've heard about this guy, I'm gonna need it."