Twelve, House: Terminal Idiocy

I can't write House at all, but goddamnit, kittens are cute. Horrible OOCness, ho!
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House had come to expect a certain level of stupidity from his team; it kept things entertaining. But this- this was a new high. He peered into the box on the coffee table and shook his head. "I think the best way to respond to this situation is to borrow some words from Chase's people. WTF, mate?"

"It's a kitten," Cameron said, ever helpful. "They were giving them away in Pediatrics."

"And I suppose none of you could resist the prospect of free kittens? Is your pay that bad? Can't you feed yourselves some other, more legal way?"

The kitten in question hooked its paws over the edge of the box and meeped at him. House reached out to it, but Chase- Chase- grabbed it before he could touch it. "Leave her alone!"

"Oh for- I wasn't going to hurt your precious kitty, Chase. What do you think I am, some sort of amoral kicke of small furry animals?"

"Yes."

"Yeah."

"It wouldn't surprise me." Foreman leaned back in his chair. "It does match your behavioral patterns up to this point."

House glared at them, but they returned his look with complete deadpan expressions. They'd gotten good. He was almost proud of them. He hobbled over to his board and picked up a marker. "Can anyone tell me the diagnostic for terminal idiocy?" He drew a large question mark at the top of the board, and then drew a cartoony cat underneath it.

His staff was ignoring him in favor of the kitten, who was purring contendedly in Chase's arms.

Okay. So maybe it was kind of cute. But it was totally against regulations. Cuddy would throw a fit. "Fine. Just don't let it get cat hair all over everything. If you remember to feed it every day, we can keep it."