Without A Heart

Bones glances disinterestedly at the waist-height great white tiger patiently awaiting him with counsel, or censure, or whatever the hell it is talking tigers from space beanstalks inside wormholes ever have to offer human chief medical officers of starships. Starships!

Damn it, they were supposed to find aliens out here, not talking cats - talking big cats, at that!

There's a rumbling sound, and oh, how McCoy wishes he could confidently diagnose (dismiss) it as the start of a purr. But no, the damn thing's about to start yapping again.

"Doctor, may I be of any assistance?"

Maybe for patient rehabilitation...