There were several officers seated around the table as the head of the Bureau of Navigation, which despite its name dealt more with the matters of the Navy's personnel than with actual navigation, read the report on the Ocelot given to Wichita. More than one, Hell, more than half had their heads in their hands as it ended, and all of them had aged noticeably as the "shipgirls", and their seemingly boundless appetite for shenanigans, had appeared. From broken ribs from overly excited hugs, to uncomfortable glares, to stuff like Wichitas furry friend, it was clear something had to be done.
"Gentlemen," he spoke up, "I believe it's high-time for us to establish some ground rules for our ships" - another sentence that wouldn't have been uttered a year ago - "a list shall we say, of things, involving the 'shipgirls', that are no longer allowed."
"Rule 1: Wichita can keep her cat so long a she keeps an eye on it."