The interior door of the TARDIS was nudged open and the newest member of the TARDIS crew poked his head round the door. The console room was empty. The big tabby tom sauntered through, sat beneath the console and started licking himself.

Like most cats, he was treating his new environment with a degree of caution, but after a good explore he decided that it was quite a good place to be. He was a little put off by the lack of mice and birds to chase, but in truth he was getting a little grey in the tail to be worried with that kind of activity. Somewhere warm to sleep (which there were plenty of places here so to do), something meaty (preferably not too chewy) to eat ... and a bit of company from time to time.

That was the problem.

Wolsey shared his home with two others (sometimes it felt like there was a third. His cat sixth-sense told him someone else was around, but he never seemed to see them ... yet although it was enigmatic, it was never malign. Sort of ... cosy-ish.) But they were usually too busy to see to him. His new master was forever scuttling around the corridors and rooms, doing this and that. If he was lucky he got his head tickled, but that was it. And his new mistress, well ... he got the impression she was pretending to be a cat person, but actually wasn't, but really was .... She resented his presence on her bed, hated him playing with her things on her desk. Well, he only wanted attention.

So he roamed. And roamed. And eventually always came back to this same room. Empty. As always.

This time, something was different.

The big doors at the other end were still open. Wolsey remembered coming through them when he left his old home, but he hadn't been through them since. He had an idea that his old home wouldn't be there when he went back through them though. Oh well. But there were some very interesting smells wafting through the doors ... He stretched and padded laconically to the opening. He paused briefly and looked back. Something seemed to be pressing him forward - a soft voice? He blinked, forgot about it, and ambled through the door.

Oooh, big spaces! Wolsey gazed around his new surroundings with awe. It was bright and airy, and he couldn't seem to quite make out the roof. Water tinkled in a fountain nearby. He remembered fountains. There was one near his old home. It was nice, shady, cool and quenched his thirst on many a hot day or a romp. It also contained fish ...

He hopped up onto the stone ledge around the water. He dipped his head down. No fish. Oh well. He lapped. The water was certainly cool, but had no taste. If cats could scowl, Wolsey would have.

Sound. Loud. Sudden. Instinct propelled him off the ledge and behind the fountain base. Then booted feet. Voices. The alarm drowned them out, but they weren't friendly. He peered cautiously from his hideaway. Two men in scarlet uniforms, matching cloaks and helmets were looking around the chamber attentively. One of them went over to his new home where it stood in the centre of the room. The alarm stopped. The other man was looking at a box in his hand which he was waving in front of him. It swung by Wolsey's directed and cheeped. The man swung it back.

Uh-oh, he thought.

The box man called the other man other and they crept towards Wolsey. Their faces were set. He remembered the time he chased chickens around a farmer's yard. The farmer had come out shouting with a big stick. His face was like those of the guards. He had hurt Wolsey with that stick before he shot through the hedge. They pulled smaller sticks from their belts.

I think they want to hurt me too. He bolted.

The men shouted. Something flared and there was a noise and the floor behind Wolsey suddenly got very hot. He tried to make it to the safety of his new home - no good, door closed. He slithered round and across the chamber. More flaring, more heat. He dived into a gap between the wall and a large stone plinth. The men couldn't get in but he rather fancied they could push their sticks in.

He was trapped. No room for manoeuvre. He pressed himself back against the wall as the thudding of their boots came closer ...

"Hello there!"

A voice behind him. He peered back. A tiny grill! And behind that grill ... a cat's face.

"You seem to be in a spot of bother ... hang on."

The grill bulged and popped clear. Wolsey shot into it just as the first hand came groping through the gap towards him.

"Follow me!" the other cat called and scampered into the darkness. Wolsey followed. After a time, they stopped.

"Old service duct. Miles of 'em in the Capitol. Only things we can use now. " He tapped a paw against the side. "Dutronic shielding. Superb. Oh, I'm Max, by the way. Welcome to Gallifrey."

"I'm Wolsey. A warm welcome indeed. Those chaps always that trigger happy where moggies are concerned?""

"Fraid so. The Chancellery Guard make a bit of a sport of it these days."

"Sport?" Wolsey spluttered. "Murder, pure and simple! I'm used to man's violence towards our kind, but really ... I'd have expected this Gallifrey place to be more enlightened."

"You don't know the half of it. Come on, I'll introduce you to the rest."

It had been an old storeroom of sorts. Long abandoned, but now the Headquarters and temporary home of Gallifrey's resident felines. Thousands of them, all ages, sizes, colours, shapes ... Wolsey should have felt comforted, but there was a tension in the air that raised the hackles. Max led him over to an alcove on the far side of the chamber and hopped up some bricks, disappearing for a moment. He reappeared, beckoning Wolsey on.

"Come on in and meet our High Council."

In a semi-circle in the centre of the alcove, resting sphinx-like, were five cats of late middle age and beyond, except for the one in the centre, an incredibly old looking Persian with a milky cataract in one eye and no teeth. It looked up as Max & Wolsey approached and spoke with a sibilant whisper.

"Welcome, stranger. Approach the Council and make yourself known."

Wolsey cantered over to the centre, nodded his head respectfully and sat down. "Hello there! I'm Wolsey. Formerly of the Planet Earth." At this the other cats stirred and whispered.

"Indeed!" murmured the old one. "I am Brunehilda, President of the High Council. I too was once from Earth ... many, many years ago. I am sorry that your welcome was not a pleasant one."

"Thank you. It seems we cats are not the flavour of the month here."

"No... we are the pariahs on this world now."

"Why? There must be worse creatures than cats on this world ..."

A fat ginger tom to Brunehilda's right rumbled: "Aye - the Time Lords for one!" There was a murmur of accent. "Long, long ago a feline species ruled Gallifrey ... now the Killer Cats of Geng-Seng are a fairy story to put the Time Tots to sleep. A proud warrior race reduced to cartoon caricature."

"Oh dear. But why do they want to destroy you?"

Brunehilda shrugged. "The Time Lords have little tolerance for aliens. We cats are not natives of Gallifrey. We were ... introduced, by certain student radicals many, many centuries ago. At first we were treated with amusement, then accepted in their homes ... loved and cherished as once our ancestors on Earth were."

Fat Ginger broke in. "But now we are hunted down like rats! They blame us for diseases, and sabotage, and a million mundane accidents...."

"It's the new Castellan, Ramar. He loathes us," said the venerable Siamese to Brunehilda's left.

"But why?"

"For want of anything else to take their frustrations out on ... life can be dull on Gallifrey. Particularly when you're in the military and nothing to use your formidable armoury on."

Wolsey considered. "Hmmm ... this won't do at all. Sounds like we need help."

Brunehilda looked over at Fat Ginger. "Montmorency here was in favour of stealing a Time Ship and going back in time to get a few Killer Cats back to teach the Time Lords a lesson ..." she shook her head, chuckling with weary amusement. Montmorency spluttered indignantly and an argument on the merits of his plan erupted. Max exchanged a weary look with Wolsey, who cleared his throat loudly.

"Actually, I have an idea ..."

***

The Doctor strode down the corridor, trailing President Flavia and her flunkies in his wake, Benny trailing even further back. No one, not even the Doctor, had even so much as looked at her since they arrived on Gallifrey. But the Doctor had been arguing with Flavia ever since. About everything and anything, it seemed. Suddenly she wished she were back in the TARDIS with something long and cool and devastatingly alcoholic, a good book and Wolsey purring in her lap. And talk of the devil ...

"Wolsey! How did you get out?" she said, bending down to stroke the animal as it sauntered out from behind a large statue of someone whose name covered at least half of the four-foot base of the stone figure and was in incredible small writing to boot. There was a sudden muttering from up front and when she looked up the procession had not only stopped but was heading back towards her at a high rate of knots, lead by a tall, thin weaselly looking man in bronze robes.

"A cat! Call the Guard!" he rasped.

The Doctor pushed his way to the front. "Hold on .. that happens to be my cat. " He crouched beside Benny to stroked the animal as well. Wolsey turned and glowered at the other man.

"Your cat! As I recall, Doctor, most of the blasted plague of these monstrosities are your cats! Madame President ..."

Flavia cut him short with a flick of her hand. "Castellan Ramar, as the beast belongs to the Doctor, I don't feel you have the need to impose your draconian sanctions upon it."

"Draconian what?" exclaimed the Doctor, rising up.

Flavia turned to continue her passage up the corridor. "The less you know the better, Doctor ..."

The Doctor's protest was cut short by another cry from Ramar.

"There's another! And another! Rassilon's Beard, they're everywhere!" He backed away, whipping his staser pistol from beneath his robes. From every corner came cats, large and small, old and young. Flavia's procession started murmuring in alarm. Ramar rose his wrist communicator to his lips and snapped an order to the guard barracks, levelling his staser at the closest animal. The Doctor leapt forward and knocked his arm aside.

"Stop! What do you think you're doing?"

Ramar glared at the Doctor. "These creatures are pests and must be dealt with accordingly."

Benny came to the Doctor's side. "They're cats! Harmless, cute, cuddly ..."

Ramar broke in continuing her sentence: ".... Dirty, disease ridden, nuisance-making ..."

"Nuisance-making!" The Doctor snapped his fingers. "That's why I liked them!"

"A species after your own heart then," Ramar sneered.

"Exactly. Just what Gallifrey needed. Bit of nuisance keeps you on your toes. And didn't it do wonders for the rat population in the Under Towns? Just ask the plebs, Castellan, who they've found most helpful over the years. The cats, or your clockwork soldier thugs ..."

Flavia sighed as the argument raged. She looked around her. All the cats seemed to be looking at her. She'd heard that the cats introduced into the Gallifreyan ecosystem had evolved, somewhat, along the way. Not into the Killer Cats of lore, but the feline had always been a powerful totem in Gallifreyan society ... and a frightening one to some as well. Especially, it seemed, to Ramar. She'd shut her eyes to the practices of the new Castellan, mainly to keep him sweet as he was a fond favourite of the Old Guard of the High Council and as such a powerful man. He was even said to have Presidential aspirations - someone to lead Gallifrey out of the chaos of change and back into the old ways of tedium, boredom, dullness and more tedium.

Flavia had already decided upon her successor - with the Old Guard's blessing or not. But could she risk it over such a trivial matter?

The Doctor, as always, settled the issue. He reached down and picked up a tiny grey kitten. It fitted snugly into the palm of his hand. He held it up before Ramar. It looked up at him with big saucer shaped blue eyes and mewed pitifully.

"This is your great enemy, is it? This is what the glorious Chancellery Guard spend their days hunting down? The same Guard Rassilon himself founded out of the noble survivors of the Great Vampire Wars?" He waved the kitten in front of his eyes. "Go on then. Shoot it. Give yourself another medal."

Ramar couldn't look the kitten in the eyes, let alone the Doctor. He looked at his feet instead. A couple of cats, one a large ginger tom, the other a sleek Siamese, curled themselves around his legs.

The staser slipped from his fingers. Another glorious defeat for the Guard.

Wolsey sauntered into the chamber where the TARDIS was parked. Brunehilda hobbled along beside him. No gun-toting guards this time. Ramar was back in the Records Division apprehending Matrix Archive Fine Debtors and old Spandrell was grumblingly re-installed as temporary Castellan. Again. Meanwhile, the cats were free to come and go as they pleased again.

And nobody minded. And after a while, nobody noticed either.

"Knew he'd come through for us. He seems a useful sort, for a person."

"He is. Look after him well." She gazed wistfully at the TARDIS. "I did, for a time."

Wolsey turned to look at her. "You did? When?"

Brunehilda sighed. "I was but a kitten when he pulled me from the ruins of Dresden. He took me on his travels for a time and then left me in the care of his old Tutor. Nice old boy. Went a bit funny in the end though." She sighed again. "Ah well. Wolsey, you know you're more than welcome to stay here ... we've always room on the Council for a clever chap. What do you think - Cardinal Wolsey?"

Wolsey laughed. "Not the religious type, old girl! No, I think I'm still up for a bit of wandering. Not ready for the old pipe & slippers yet!"

Brunehilda smiled. "You're always welcome if you come back. The cats of Gallifrey owe you a debt of honour."

Then the mistress appeared in the TARDIS door. "Oy! You! Come on, we're waiting."

Wolsey winked at Brunehilda and scampered into the TARDIS. He jumped up on the TARDIS console. The Doctor looked up and beamed at him.

"Looks like we have another hero in our midst ... eh, old girl?" He stroked Wolsey and patted the TARDIS affectionately.