[If the advanced form of a kitten means a post-weaning, eight month old or so cat, then Spock is correct in his split second judgement. Nyota's noticed that outside of this particular moment, the kitten still has its stereotypical energy--as proof of the ripped up bits of paper on her room floor says--so she estimates that it's not fully grown. McCoy's not a vet so she knows better than to take the cat to him for examination to be absolutely sure. Still, even if it was elderly, she'd be babytalking it anyway because she secretly likes cute things. Like tribbles. At least this is not a tribble. It's a very good thing that it's a cat and not a tribble.
Spock, you still miss out on the nuances of human speech patterns, we see.]
Keep her? [Nyota glances up at him, smirking.] That's what a person usually does with a cat they like.
[The sarcasm's probably lost on him. Fine. Enough words. She cups her hand around the kitten's belly, turning it so she can hold it out to him. The kitten, lacking proper ability to ask verbal questions, looks confused at the sudden change in position and hangs there, tiny furry toes splayed out.]
no subject
Spock, you still miss out on the nuances of human speech patterns, we see.]Keep her? [Nyota glances up at him, smirking.] That's what a person usually does with a cat they like.
[The sarcasm's probably lost on him. Fine. Enough words. She cups her hand around the kitten's belly, turning it so she can hold it out to him. The kitten, lacking proper ability to ask verbal questions, looks confused at the sudden change in position and hangs there, tiny furry toes splayed out.]
Hold her. She doesn't bite.