CRUSHER: I have two nights taken this shift with you, but can perceive no truth in your reports. What is his status?
TROI: Since the captain took leave, I have seen Worf rise from his bed, throw on his silver night-dress, take up a PADD, wield it as if it were a rapier, search the room, and return to bed, all while fast asleep.
CRUSHER: God's teeth! I could write a paper on't. I could win the Carrington for this! What have you heard him say?
TROI: See for yourself.
Enter WORF.
CRUSHER: Look, how he scratches at his arms!
TROI: It is an accustomed action with him, I have known him to continue this until 0200 hours.
WORF: Yet there's a Spot!
CRUSHER [Scanning WORF with her tricorder]: Hark! I must attend this.
WORF [Crouching to look under the bed]: Out damned Spot! Out, I say!
DATA [Entering]: Commander! How fortunate. It seems you have found my cat!
WORF [Lifting SPOT from beneath his bed]: For the last time, Data, get this mongrel out of my quarters. Did I not tell you I am allergic?
DATA [Petting SPOT]: I'm so sorry, Sir! Would you like to hear my latest sonnet, number 101? It begins: O truant meows, what shall be thy amends...
WORF growls.
DATA (with SPOT) rapidly exunt.
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