Summary: A day of cloud gazing turns into hairy business for the cousins.

Briefly references “A Night to Forget” and “In Darkness Buried Deep”.

#14 – The Quest for the Hairless Cat

Pippin is 9, Merry 17, Frodo 30 (or about 6, 11 and 19 in Man years)
1 Forelithe, 1399 SR
Brandy Hall, Buckland
 

A fair late-spring morning greets us when we wake, so Pippin and I decide to spend it outside on the summit of Buck Hill, rolling in the grass, chasing butterflies and watching the clouds float by.

Not that we have much choice in the matter. As soon as second breakfast is over, Mother chases us from the apartment so she and Aunt Berylla can team up on Frodo and get him courted to one of the many eligible lasses of Brandy Hall. Mother feels it is her duty to see Frodo respectfully and happily settled before he reaches forty, seeing as she had been his foster mother for all those years and that Bilbo doesn’t know the first thing about wooing lasses. I think she’s just afraid Frodo will take up Bilbo’s eccentricities if left to his own devices for too long and remain a bachelor forever. I would tell her she’s likely already too late, but I don’t much fancy having to wash dishes at Father’s birthday party tomorrow night.

So Pippin and I wish Frodo good luck – he’ll need it, poor chap – and go outside into the warm air and bright sunshine. We explore around the smial and through the gardens, then make our way up Buck Hill. After a considerable time rolling down the shallow end of the hill and chasing all the butterflies we can see, we take off our jackets and waistcoats and spread them on the ground to lie on top of them and watch the clouds. The wind today is warm and brisk, and the clouds float by fairly quickly, so that even Pippin doesn’t stand much chance of getting bored.

“That one looks like a lopsided mountain of whipped cream,” Pippin says of one cloud. His clouds always look like food.

“That one looks like a box with its sides puffed out,” I say, pointing at another.

“That one looks like a slice of apple crumble,” Pippin says a few minutes later, licking his lips eagerly.

“That one looks like a lass wearing a bonnet,” I say after some more minutes tick by. I point out the brim of the bonnet and the lass’s ears and chin.

“It looks like an upside-down strawberry shortcake to me,” Pippin says wistfully, and I realize the reason he’s been so quiet is because he’s been imagining eating the clouds. “Do you think we can go into town to that sweet shop today?”

“I’ll ask Mother, but if we do, you can only get one thing and you’ll have to wait for tea to eat it,” I remind him. Aunt Eglantine is a bit strict when it comes to Pippin and his sweets since they make him even more hyper than he already is naturally. He’s only allowed one treat a day, no matter what the circumstances. I point up at the clouds again. “That one looks like a rucksack.”

“That one looks like a plate of biscuits,” Pippin says in his turn.

“That one looks like a pony’s head.”

“That one looks like roasted pork with cinnamon apples. Mmmm.”

“Pippin, you’re going to make yourself hungry,” I warn him.

“It’s almost elevenses,” Pippin points out and I don’t doubt it. His stomach is a truer teller of mealtimes than the sun or a pocket watch.

“That one looks like a cat,” I say, pointing to a round cloud with two tips at the top.

“That’s not a cat,” Pippin protests. “It’s not fluffy enough.”

“What do you mean it’s not fluffy enough?” I ask. “It’s a cloud. Clouds are nothing if not fluffy. And it does so look like a cat. See, there are the ears and the nose.”

“But if it’s a cat, it’d be even more fluffy because of the fur,” Pippin points out, obviously believing that he is making some sort of sense. “It’s not fluffy enough.”

“Maybe it’s a cat with no fur,” I say, and as soon as the words leave my lips I wish I can take them back.

You never can tell what’s going to command Pippin’s attention until it’s too late. Usually, it’s something harmless that won’t cause any trouble but will keep him happily occupied until it’s time to eat, take a bath or go to bed, such as cloud gazing.

Sometimes, it’s something like this and it pushes all other thoughts completely from his head until he’s able to pursue the object of his obsession. It’s one of the things I love most about Pippin, since you never know what’s going to happen. There’s a downside also as it almost always leads to trouble and this close to Father’s birthday, trouble can only lead to washing dishes.

Take last week, for instance. We had been playing in Grandfather’s study waiting for him and Father to return from their duties so we could go with Father into town to look for birthday gifts for Mother. As we waited, Cousin Seredic came into the study with a delivery, a very small cask with a little cork fit snuggly into a hole at the top. It had been so small that even Pippin could easily handle it.

“What is it?” we had asked.

“Some glue Uncle Rory requested,” Seredic had answered. “One of his model boats needs fixing.” Then Seredic had placed the cask on a shelf of Grandfather’s bookcase and left.

I went over to inspect the brand on the cask and noticed that it came from a shop in town, which reputed to have the strongest glue in all of Buckland and even the Shire. It was said that this glue could even secure a full-grown hobbit to hang from any ceiling, which of course is utter nonsense. When I mentioned this to Pippin, he became keen on seeing how heavy a load the glue actually could hold, an experiment I approved immediately.

We ended up gluing Grandfather’s desk clock to the top of the alcove, which overlooks Grandfather’s private garden. I at least had sense enough to put the pillows and blankets on the seat of the alcove and the floor, in case the glue didn’t hold. Waiting for the glue to dry had been the hardest part as my arms quickly grew tired of holding the clock in place, but once the glue had sufficiently dried, both Pippin and I were astonished to see the clock hold its place. That is, until Grandfather and Father returned and it took them half an hour to pry the clock free, taking little chunks of the alcove ceiling along with it. When Father told Mother the story, she just laughed (and thankfully forgot to punish us).

“Why didn’t you just pour hot water on the glue?” she had asked between giggles. My father could only shrug and mutter that he hadn’t thought about that.

Now it looks as though another improbable thought has occurred to Pippin, this one involving cats with no fur. He sits up almost instantly and turns to look at me, his eyes wide with wonder and an imagination run amok.

“There are cats with no fur?” he asks. “Where? I’ve never seen one before.” He looks at me accusingly, as though I’ve been purposely keeping him from seeing such an amazing thing his whole life.

“I was joking, Pip,” I say.

“You were?” he asks, still giving me that accusatory look. He reminds me of Grandfather after he catches one us children in a lie. Everything we say for the next few days he doesn’t believe, even when we are telling the truth.

“Of course I was. There’s no such thing as a cat without hair. You can ask Frodo if you don’t believe me,” I say, hoping that will be the end of that, and for the moment it is. Pippin’s stomach gives a loud rumble, announcing it time for elevenses.

We scramble to our feet, dust off our jackets and waistcoats which we then sling over our arms, and head down the hill. We take the path that lets us into the Hall at the North Door. The tunnels are quiet where we enter but they begin to crowd as we reach the dining hall. We manage to get inside with little trouble and make our way to the main table at the front of the hall. Berilac, Uncle Mac, Bilbo and Father are already seated. Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine are standing nearby talking with Milo and Peony Burrows. Across the hall, Pearl and Pimpernel are sitting with Mentha and Melilot. Pervinca sits in the middle of the hall with Estella and Iris Bolger. Frodo, Mother and Aunt Berylla are nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s your mother?” I ask Berilac as Pippin and I take seats next to him at the end of the table. Pippin turns in his seat to begin his vigil on the kitchen doors. Nothing excites him more than seeing the servers coming out, holding up their trays covered in food and drink. One would think it’s Yule morning, he gets so excited.

“She’s still with your mother and Frodo,” Berry informs me. “I stopped by your apartment on the way over here, pretending to look for you. Frodo seemed fine enough to me, whatever was going on. Bilbo couldn’t stop laughing though; I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not. He made me come here with him, otherwise I would have tried to get some news for you.”

“Frodo will be here soon enough,” I say, grateful that Berry had at least tried. He’s not exactly one for snooping or scheming, so it means something that he made the effort.

I’m not too concerned for Frodo though. Whatever Mother is roping him into, at worst he will only get stuck having to escort some lass to Father’s birthday party, and then he and Bilbo can make their escape back to Hobbiton the following morning. Actually, come to think of it, I’m surprised Mother waited this long into Frodo’s visit to stick him with escorting duties. Perhaps she had wanted to lull him into a false sense of security before springing her trap.

“Merry and I are going to hunt for hairless cats after we eat,” Pippin says suddenly, eyes still peeled on the kitchen doors. “Want to come with us?”

That he can continue to think about nonexistent hairless cats while on the lookout for food is troubling indeed. If I can’t convince Pippin I had only been joking, this is going to be a very long day. I don’t mind indulging Pippin so long as it leads to some point, but this looks to only waste our time.

“You’re looking for what?” Berry says with a laugh. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes in Pippin’s direction. “He does get the oddest ideas.”

“It wasn’t my idea, it was Merry’s,” Pippin says, frowning at Berilac for insinuating that one of my ideas could be considered odd.

“It was a joke, Pip,” I remind him and quickly explain everything to Berilac.

“So do you want to come with us?” Pippin asks again.

“It does sound exciting,” Berry says unhelpfully, “but Father and I have to finish the boat repairs. It started leaking on us yesterday morning. Almost flooded the hull before we could get back to the Ferry landing.”

“How frightening,” says Aunt Eglantine as she and Uncle Paladin join us. Next to me, Pippin starts bouncing in his seat. The kitchen doors are swinging open and the servers are beginning to enter the hall.

“We both know how to swim,” Berilac says, unfazed at the memory. “Besides, the worst of the flooding didn’t start until we were almost at the landing. We pulled it up to shore, drained it, patched it and set it out to dry. Now we just need to make sure the patch will hold, sand it down, go over it with some varnish and put it back in the river to see what it will do.”

The servers come to our table then and set out the tea service, along with water-biscuits, toast, butter, preserves and a large bowl of fruit medley mixed in yogurt. I have just finished serving Pippin and myself when Frodo, Aunt Berylla and Mother come into the hall. Mother and Aunt Berylla look quite pleased with themselves. Frodo smiles pleasantly at everyone he greets, but as he doesn’t stop to exchange pleasantries I know he’s just putting on airs. Whatever Mother and Aunt Berylla have talked Frodo into, he’s not very happy about it.

Frodo quickly makes it to the front table and sits next to Pippin and me. He grabs a handful of water-biscuits, slathers them with butter, and pours himself some cold tea.

“What happened?” I ask in a whisper, leaning across Pippin, who is stuffing as much fruit medley in his mouth as he can get on his fork, to get a good look at Frodo.

Frodo’s lips are drawn into a tight line and his eyes lack their usual mischief. I notice him watching the table where Pervinca, Estella and Iris are sitting. A few other lasses have joined them, including Posy Goold. Frodo and Posy have an interesting bit of history together, a history Frodo doesn’t much care to talk about. Let’s just say, Frodo’s lucky he isn’t married already.

Posy catches Frodo looking at her table and smiles at him suggestively. She even gives him a little wink. Frodo blushes a deep crimson and glues his eyes to his plate.

“It’s not Posy is it?” I ask incredulously.

After Frodo’s last encounter with that wily vixen, Mother has been keen on keeping the two as far apart from each other as possible, but that didn’t stop Posy from wreaking havoc on all the other lads in Bucklebury. Mother has since suggested to Posy’s parents that they marry her off to my cousin Bordoc, the dullest Brandybuck in Buckland history, in the hopes that he would tame Posy and make an honest lass of her. Bordoc deserves better than Posy, in my opinion, but his complete lack of personality means he’s unlikely to find a more deserving lass on his own. He’s already a year past forty, the age at which most chaps are either married or well on their way to remaining lifelong bachelors. Both families are considering the proposal.

Frodo shudders at the very thought of Posy. “No, thank the stars. It’s Iris Bolger. I’m to escort her into town today to help her with her shopping for her birthday next month. Then I’m to escort her to your father’s birthday tomorrow night.”

“Iris is a fine enough lass,” Berilac assures, overhearing our whispers. He leans in and whispers also. “She’s not quite as fickle as most lasses, but she does like to talk about her crocheting. You should try to avoid that subject if you can.”

“That’s unlikely. Every year for her birthday, she gives out something that she crocheted or spun,” I inform my unfortunate friend. “Which means you’ll be spending your afternoon going from one fabric shop to another, talking about nothing but crocheting. It’s a pity you can’t crochet her lips shut. Maybe you can borrow Grandmother’s earplugs that she uses so Grandfather’s snoring won’t keep her up at nights. Just nod from time to time and say ‘I like that pattern’ or ‘that’s a fine color’ so Iris won’t know you aren’t really listening.”

Frodo groans inwardly and dares another furtive glance at Iris’s table. Iris is talking rather excitedly now and the other lasses are leaning toward her, hanging on her every word. Pervinca glances in our direction with a skeptical expression. Her eyes land on Frodo and she shrugs, as though to say she sympathizes with him but can think of no way to rescue him from his fate. Frodo sighs, drains his tea and nibbles at his water-biscuits.

“Look at the bright side, Frodo,” I say, still whispering, as what I’m about to say I certainly don’t want any adult overhearing. “At least Posy won’t be going with you, and I doubt very much Iris is the type of lass to hitch up her—”

Frodo quickly clears his throat and gives me a warning glare. Then he looks pointedly at Pippin, who is listening attentively to every word we say now that his plate is nearly empty.

“Er—uh, to hitch up her pony to your, um, hitching post… on the first outing,” I conclude somewhat clumsily. Berilac raises his eyebrows at this but wisely says nothing. Pippin just looks confused, no doubt wondering what Frodo would be doing with a hitching post of his own.

Frodo’s cheeks burn pink again. “I’m grateful to have your support, Merry. It’s a comfort to me,” he says with forced politeness, a tone he usually only reserves for the Sackville-Bagginses. He’s in no mood for jests, so I refrain from poking any more fun at him for the time being.

He crams the last of his water-biscuits into his mouth and munches on them slowly. He drains his second cup of tea and licks his lips, his composure now regained. “So Iris and I will be going into town today. You lads are more than welcome to join us,” he says and I detect a hint of pleading in his otherwise dulcet tones. “We’ll make a stop at the sweets shop and you can each get a treat. I won’t even tell Aunt Tina about it.”

“Really?” Pippin squeals, so excited at the idea of having two treats in one day that he forgets to be prudent. We quickly shush him. “Really?” he repeats in a loud whisper.

On the other side of Berilac, Aunt Eglantine is closely watching her son, no doubt wondering what had caused such an outburst. “What are you lads planning to do today?” she asks innocently.

“Nothing,” we reply.

“Except Frodo is stepping out with Iris into town today,” I say, smiling sweetly, forgetting my earlier oath to be merciful in my effort to cover up Pippin’s outburst. “He wants company along, so I think he should take Posy and Bordoc, don’t you, Aunt Tina?”

“Absolutely not,” Aunt Eglantine says. She is no more fond of Posy than Mother is. “But if you lads need something to do, you can come with your sisters, Estella and I when we go to the river to collect water lilies.”

“But cats don’t like the water,” Pippin protests.

“Well, no they don’t particularly,” Uncle Paladin joins in, just as confused as everyone else why cats are suddenly so important.

“We need to go to town today to look for the hairless cats,” Pippin continues. “They won’t be at the river so we won’t be able to find them there. They’ll be in town, so we need to go with Frodo.” At least he has enough sense not to mention the sweets shop.

“Hairless cats,” Uncle Paladin says, lifting an eyebrow in my direction.

I again quickly explain everything, then turn to Pippin in yet another effort to convince him of the truth. “Pip, I was only joking about there being cats with no fur. There’s no such thing as a hairless cat and we are not spending the entire day looking for something that doesn’t exist. Tell him, Frodo.”

Unfortunately, Frodo is looking at us with a wicked little smirk on his otherwise innocent face. I’m about to get served my dues for my earlier teasing of him. He quickly puts on a serious expression when Pippin turns his questioning gaze on him, and he chides, “Now really, Merry, why would you tell Pippin there’s no such thing as hairless cats? I’ll have you know, that I’ve seen such cats with my own eyes, and I’m not the only one who has.”

“Really?” Pippin says, if possible now more excited than he had been when the food was brought out. Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Paladin decide that we are just lads being lads and go back to conversing with Father and Mother. Berilac snickers into his teacup, no doubt thinking that I’m getting what I deserve.

Pippin is now looking at Frodo with wide eyes, so enthralled with our older, wiser and more experienced cousin that he entirely forgets his last bite of fruit medley on his plate. “You’ve seen them? Where?”

“Well, right here of course,” Frodo says. “They’re a curiosity particular to Buckland, that Bucklanders like to keep to themselves. Since I’m a Hobbitonian now, I no longer must hold back the truth. Yes, Pippin, there are hairless cats.”

“Can I see one?” Pippin pleads, pouting out his lower lip and making his eyes as big as he can. It’s his most beseeching expression and it almost never fails to get him exactly what he wants.

“Frodo,” I interrupt. “Don’t lead Pippin on so.”

“But I’m not,” Frodo says, looking offended that I should even make such a suggestion. “Like I said, I’m not the only one who has seen them. There are others who have seen these mysterious felines, and I can take you to a couple of them if you like.”

“I like!” Pippin says, bouncing in his seat again. “I like very much!”

“Then come along and I’ll take you to them,” Frodo says and stands. Pippin and I get to our feet and follow Frodo through the dining hall, which has begun to thin now that the mealtime is nearly over.

I have no idea what Frodo is scheming but I know it will be foolproof. Frodo didn’t earn his reputation as the worst rascal in Buckland without reason. Whatever he plots, he almost always pulls off without a hitch and he just as often gets away with it too.

It doesn’t take me long to see where Frodo is leading us. In the middle of the hall, near to the table where Iris and her friends are sitting, is a table occupied by Morton Goodbody and Fendimbras Goldworthy and their wives. Morton’s two-year old son sleeps soundly in his wife’s arms. They spot us approaching and the fellows nod at Frodo.

“Good day, old chap,” they greet Frodo with much warmth.

“Hullo, lads,” Frodo greets in return, smiling brightly.

Now it’s my turn to groan inwardly. Fendi and Morti are just two of that infamous gang of rascals that Frodo used to be a part of when he lived in Buckland. They are responsible for some truly amazing and daring feats of hobbit devilry. The fact that they’re now of age and beginning families of their own is little comfort, since there isn’t anything they wouldn’t do to help Frodo cause mischief – for old times’ sake.

“Pippin, you know Fendi and Morti, surely,” Frodo begins.

Pippin nods. Both Pippin and I look upon the older generation of troublemakers with an air of awe and respect, or at least I used to. Now that they are likely to turn on me, I find my feelings of fondness somewhat lacking. Fendi and Morti smile kindly at us, pretending not to notice my scowl. My own cousins. How could they?

“I’ll have you lads know,” Frodo continues, “that I’ve just named Pippin an honorary Bucklander.”

“Well, naturally, it’s only right,” Fendi plays along.

“It’s about time, I say,” Morti joins in with a sage nod. Their wives just roll their eyes, peck their husbands on the cheek, and take their leave.

“And now that he’s an honorary Bucklander, there’s nothing that needs to be withheld from him,” Frodo goes on.

“I should think not,” Morti says.

Frodo sits down and pulls Pippin onto his lap. I just stand where I am, watching this lie unfold before my eyes with a perverse sense of fascination and pride. Frodo really is a genius, I can’t deny it, even if he’s plotting against me.

“I was just telling Pippin about the hairless cats that roam Buckland,” Frodo says in a fervent whisper. “You see, Merry let it slip that we have such cats and then tried to cover it up, but Pip of course was too smart to fall for that. So I named him an honorary Bucklander, so he can know the truth and still be allowed to leave Buckland to go home. I was just telling him how I saw them once when I remembered that you two have seen them as well.”

Fendi and Morti nod at each other in such a serious manner that even I lean in closer to hear what they say next, so quietly do they speak.

“Yes, well, the hairless cats,” Fendi begins, looking a trifle alarmed. “That’s serious business. Serious indeed.”

“It’s not something a wee lad like you should hear about,” Morti takes over. “You see, the hairless cats aren’t actually of Buckland. They come…” and here he pauses to look around to make sure no one is listening “…out of the Old Forest.”

“The Old Forest,” Pippin whispers. Frodo squeezes him protectively and gives just the slightest shake of his head to warn the cousins to keep the story from growing too scary.

“Yes, the Old Forest,” Fendi says, nodding both to Pippin and Frodo. In a blink of an eye, his whole demeanor changes from intense to flippant, but he still keeps his voice at a whisper. “They only come out at night see, which is why so few hobbits have seen them. They come over the High Hay, climb it just like they would a tree.”

“Mostly they just catch mice and rats and birds, things of that nature,” Morti says, his whisper also more friendly now. Frodo favors them with an appreciative nod. “They don’t like hobbits much though, mostly because hobbits get so scared when they see them, that they chase the poor cats away with brooms.”

“Oh no!” Pippin exclaims.

“Yes, it’s true,” Frodo pipes up, looking sad for the pretend cats. “They keep very close to the forest and very rarely come into any of the populated areas.”

“Then how did you ever manage to see them?” I ask, hoping to catch them in their lie. Unfortunately, they are more than ready for me.

“Why, that time Frodo got lost in the forest of course,” Fendi says, as though explaining a simple sums equation to a slow child. “That’s a hard sight to forget.”

“Indeed,” Morti agrees. “There we were, searching everywhere for Frodo, getting more and more disheartened at ever seeing him again. When suddenly, out of a thicket of trees, here comes this line of four hairless cats. They walked right up to us, circled around us, and walked back into the thicket of trees.”

“Rory and Saradoc didn’t know what to make of it,” Fendi goes on. “Such an unusual sight to see just one hairless cat, but a whole line of them, and acting so strangely! Your Uncle Saradoc followed after them, and guess what he found?”

“What?” asks Pippin.

“Frodo, of course!” Fendi says, with a slap of his hand on the table. “You can imagine our astonishment!”

“Especially since you two weren’t even there,” I mutter, but no one is paying any attention to me.

“I was just barely conscious by that time,” Frodo joins in. “The cats brought me what fruit could be found and one of the cats even gave me some of her milk. It was just enough to keep me alive until Sara could find me. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in Miss Talia’s apartment, but all she gave me to drink was willow bark tea.”

“Wow,” Pippin says breathlessly, his eyes still wide as he stares at his older cousins with renewed admiration. He never imagined before that they survived such a perilous journey, and all because of hairless cats. “So, does that mean I won’t ever see one?” he asks.

“If you’re lucky,” Fendi says.

“They only live deep in the Old Forest,” Morti reiterates, “and only come out very rarely.”

“Yes, even those who do live near the High Hay have rarely seen them,” Frodo says. “What reports we do know of come from sleepless half-blind gammers on moonless nights. They’re not very reliable witnesses. Most likely, they’re just seeing moles running through the fields.”

I narrow my eyes menacingly at Frodo when he says this. Tonight will be a new moon, a fact that Pippin soon realizes also. If I don’t do something quickly, I’m going to end up camping near the High Hay, staying up all night on a pointless vigil for imaginary cats. Before I can say anything though, Iris Bolger makes her way towards us and smiles shyly at Frodo.

“Ready, Iris?” Frodo asks politely, depositing Pippin onto the seat next to him and standing up.

“I am,” she answers and takes his arm when he offers it to her.

Morti and Fendi watch this with much amusement, then they too make their departure. To my dismay, they are no sooner gone than Pippin tugs my hand and whispers, “Merry, you know what we have to do, right?”

I sigh, not wanting to go camping if Frodo isn’t going to be with us. I only have two more nights with him, after all. I consider the cost of sending Posy and Bordoc to town to join Frodo and Iris as payback but quickly decide the trouble it would cause for everyone involved is not worth the effort.

“Merry,” Pippin says, tugging on my hand again. “There’s no moon tonight. Merry!”

“Father and Uncle Paladin will never approve,” I say and then I can almost kick myself for not thinking of the solution earlier. Father! Now, he really had been there when Frodo was found, so he knows better than anyone that there are no hairless cats in the Old Forest.

I look up at the front table and am glad to see Father and Bilbo still sitting there, tucking in a few more bites of fruit medley. I take Pippin’s hand and guide him to the table. We wait patiently for Father and Bilbo to look up.

“What is it, son?” Father asks.

“Pippin wants to go camping tonight near the High Hay to look for hairless cats,” I state without any ado. The sooner this is resolved, the better. Then maybe Pippin and I can go into town and trail after Frodo and Iris. “You know, Father, those same hairless cats that led you to Frodo when he was lost in the Old Forest.” Then I shake my head and make my eyes as wide as they can go, in a silent plead for Father to deny the whole story and tell us we can’t camp out the night before his big birthday party.

Unfortunately, I fail to consider Bilbo’s presence and the influence he tends to have over my father. Bilbo chuckles and winks down at Pippin. “Tonight would be a grand night for a camp out,” he says. “And what an adventure. It’s not most young lads who’ll brave the Old Forest at night.”

“You lads can’t go alone, nor can you hope for much success. We were rather far into the forest when we found Frodo, and most creatures that live that deep inside don’t come to the edges often. They come over the Hedge even less often than that,” Father adds, crushing my hopes. He’s not going to deny it! He’s actually going to help perpetuate this lie! What is happening to everyone today? Have they lost their senses entirely?

I gape at my father openly. “But Father, that isn’t what actually happened, right?” I ask pointedly.

“Oh, come on, Merry,” Father says. “It will be fun. Not to mention it’ll get us out of the smial and out of the way of any last-minute party preparations your mother wants to make. We’ll make a day of it!”

Father does pick the worst times to recapture his youth. Bilbo doesn’t help matters any. “You’ll need sleeping rolls, food for meals, water, cooking gear,” he begins to tick off a list on his fingers. “You won’t have to worry about a tent, the nights have been so fine, but you’ll need a change of clothes, walking sticks, cloaks, lanterns.”

“I’ll leave you lads to get everything ready,” Father says. “You’ll help them, Bilbo? I’ll tell Esme and Father, and see if Paladin wants to tag along.”

Father looks too excited at the prospect of camping out for me to deny him. I wait until Father is gone before mouthing a sarcastic ‘thanks’ to Bilbo. He just smiles innocently and holds out his hand to Pippin. “Come along, lads, we have much to get ready and little time to do it.”

Bilbo isn’t kidding. I never realized before how much preparation it takes to ready for a camping trip, even a short overnight outing like Father is planning. Bilbo requests a pony and trap to be readied, to carry our packs, food and mainly the water. We will need water for drinking and washing the dishes, as there are no water sources near the High Hay. The lanterns are also stowed away, one in each sleeping roll to protect the glass. Bilbo also has us gather up some kindling and firewood, so we won’t have to bother finding any once we make camp. As we’re doing that, he goes to the kitchen to procure us food for tea, supper and breakfast. We finish just in time for luncheon, which he brings to us as we sit on the trap, our legs swinging back and forth as we watch the laundresses hanging sheets and towels in the sun to dry.

“You’ll be coming too, won’t you, Bilbo?” Pippin asks.

“Oh no, lad. Frodo and I will be making camp soon enough, once we’re homebound,” Bilbo replies kindly, handing us each a loaf of bread and a mug of water. He places the butter bowl and jam jar between us and hands me the knife, not trusting Pippin with it. He also has a small basket of apples and carrots, which he hands to Pippin. Pippin reaches into the basket and grabs the largest carrot of the bunch, crunching into it noisily.

“We’ll be gone by the time Frodo gets back from town,” I say. I try to sound matter-of-fact, but Bilbo hears the regret in my voice all the same. He looks at me keenly and nods.

“Yes, I suppose you will, but don’t worry about that,” he says. “I’ll be here to lend him a sympathetic ear if he needs it, and you’ll have plenty of time to hear all about his day with Miss Iris tomorrow. I do hope though that you show him some mercy during the party. Frodo’s quite shy of lasses and having to pay court is trying enough without his dear, sweet cousins hounding him.”

“I was only teasing,” I say without much conviction. Bilbo might not have heard what passed between Frodo and me during elevenses, but if anyone knows Frodo better than I do, it’s Bilbo. He would have been able to guess what we were talking about just by looking at Frodo’s face. I suppose I had gone too far when I teased him about Posy.

“Don’t fret over it,” Bilbo says cheerily. “It’s your job to tease him about courting, and he knows it. He just needed to breathe in a little air after his talk with your mother. He’ll take your rubbing with better grace tomorrow.”

Soon after luncheon, Uncle Paladin and Father join us. Bilbo tells them everything that we’ve prepared thus far and takes away the luncheon things. He wishes us good luck in our quest for the hairless cats and waves good-bye as he disappears into the Hall. Uncle Paladin is looking between Father, Pippin and me as though he isn’t quite sure how he came to be here. I know how he feels.

When everything is packed and ready, Father takes the pony by the halter and leads us on foot to the road towards Bucklebury. As we pass through town, we spot Frodo and Iris outside a fabric shop. Iris is diligently comparing two bolts of fabric that look to me to be the exact same color and style. Frodo spots us and waves, laughing at the sight of us heading off for our camping adventure.

Pippin waves back excitedly and calls loud enough for every hobbit in the vicinity to hear clearly, “We’re going to find the hairless cats! We’re not half-blind gammers, so we’ll be able to see them!”

“That you will!” Frodo calls back as Uncle Paladin and Father choke back laughs and everyone else just scratches their heads.

The Road to Hedge Field isn’t long, but Father goes at a slow pace to give Pippin opportunity to keep up. We stop several times on the way too, so Pippin and I can explore through the countryside. We go through Crafter’s Field, looking at all the many pieces of woodwork the carpenters are designing. Beyond that is another field, this one with an old, dilapidated bell tower sitting in the middle of it. We’re now no longer allowed to climb it or play near it, since Grandfather worries that it might fall down one of these days. Come autumn, he’s going to have it torn down altogether and its wood used in the bonfires. A new one will be erected after the Harvest.

When we get near Crickhollow, Pippin starts pointing at everything that moves, convinced that it’s a hairless cat.

“Is that one!” he shouts, pointing at a squirrel. “Is that one!” he asks a few moments later, pointing at the same squirrel now standing on a different rock. “Is that one!” he asks after just another few feet, this time pointing to a piglet in someone’s field. At this time, Uncle Paladin comes and picks up Pippin, putting him on his shoulders so that he might see better and not have to ask so many questions.

By the time we reach Hedge Field and gain the giant boulder that sits on its northern edge, the sun is approaching teatime. We stop for our meal, Pippin and I climbing to the top of the boulder, which is warm from the sun. Pippin stares at the High Hay, tilting his head at it as he munches on his biscuit. It has easily been three or four years since Pippin last saw the High Hay, and that from a distance. He has never been this close to it, so far as I can remember, and he seems to find the whole thing puzzling. I’m about to ask him why when he speaks.

“Those cats must really love to climb, if they climb over that,” Pippin says. “That’s a very tall hedge, Merry.”

“It has to be, to keep out the trees,” I say. “They’ll walk right through it otherwise.”

“Da?” Pippin asks next. “If we do get to see a hairless cat, can we take one home?”

Uncle Paladin shakes his head. “I’m afraid not, lad. Feral cats aren’t good for keeping. Too wild, they are. They’ll just eat the fowl and attack anyone as gets too close.”

“But these cats showed Uncle Sara where to find Frodo,” Pippin says. “They’re not wild.”

“That they are,” Father says. “They let me follow them, but only once they got so far ahead of me. The only reason they helped Frodo at all was because he was already so close to dying. They might be wild, but they know when a kit is needing its own.”

“But, maybe if we can catch a little bairn one,” Pippin says hopefully.

I sigh, giving up and deciding it will be easier just to play along. “Now really, Pip, how would you feel if someone came along, saw you and decided to take you home without so much as a word to your family?”

“Sad,” Pippin answers and sighs. “Well, I hope we get to see one anyway. Do you think we will, Merry?”

“The odds are against us, Pip, but maybe we’ll get lucky,” I say, patting his shoulder.

Below us on the grass, Uncle Paladin and Father pull out their pipes and light them. Pippin and I pack up the food from tea and I help Father dig a fire pit in the dirt near the boulder for the fire. By the time we have a flame going, it’s getting close to nightfall, the sky above ablaze with the setting sun. I help Father warm up our dinner while Pippin helps Uncle Paladin lay out the sleeping rolls and feed the pony.

After dinner, we play games, sing a few songs and make up new songs about hairless cats living in the woods. As night comes down thick around us, Father and Uncle Paladin begin telling campfire stories, making sure to keep them light and friendly so as not to scare Pippin – Aunt Eglantine’s orders I’m sure. They’re all stories we’ve heard before and though a couple of them stray into scary territory, they all have a happy ending.

At long last, Father and Uncle Paladin begin yawning and announce it time for bed.

“But we have to keep a lookout for the hairless cats,” Pippin protests.

“You lads can stay up, so long as you’re quiet,” Uncle Paladin says. “Just remember, the cats won’t come if they’re afraid to approach.”

“We’ll be quiet,” Pippin promises.

Uncle Paladin lifts him up, gives him a squeeze and kisses his cheek. Pippin throws his arms around his father’s neck and kisses him back. “G’night Da.”

“Good night, Pip.”

Father takes me aside as this is happening and whispers, “Don’t stray further than the light of the fire. There may not be hairless cats in the Old Forest, but there are other creatures. They’ve never strayed over the Hedge before, but just in case…”

“Get you and Uncle Pally,” I finish. Father nods and ruffles my curls. “Good night, Father.”

“Try not to stay up too late. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” Father advises with a wry grin in Pippin’s direction.

“I’ll do my best,” I reply just as wryly. Pippin won’t be yawning for hours yet by the way he’s bouncing over to me now.

Father and Uncle Paladin bed down in their sleeping rolls between the fire and the boulder. I pour Pippin another cup of tea and we sit as far from the fire as we can without leaving its comforting warmth. The night is cool but not chilled, and the stars twinkle overhead in clear skies absent of the moon’s light.

“Why does the moon go away?” Pippin asks in a whisper, remembering his promise to be quiet without any reminders from me. He’s used to having to whisper at night, when he sneaks into my room and wants to talk while others are sleeping. For some reason, he never stops to wonder if I might be trying to sleep as well.

I shrug. “I’m sure Bilbo would know some Elvish tale that explains it all,” I say. “Maybe we can ask Gandalf next time he’s here, if we see him.”

“I think the moon just gets lazy,” Pippin states. “Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed either, and I’ll stay there for as long as Mum will let me, or until I get hungry enough.”

“So not very long then,” I tease and Pippin grins impishly. “I suppose even the moon needs a break from time to time. It is nighttime after all.”

“Maybe it’s the Man in the Moon,” Pippin suggests. “Maybe he came down to bother that poor innkeeper and drink the night away.”

“That must be it then,” I say with a nod. “He must blow out the lights before he leaves the moon.”

“Merry?”

“Hm?”

“Are there really hairless cats?” Pippin asks.

“I’ve never seen an oliphaunt, dragon or troll, and I likely never will, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exit,” I reply. “Maybe our talking is keeping the cats away.”

Pippin nods and leans into my side, resting his head on my chest. I wrap an arm around him and hum as quietly as I can, hoping to lull Pippin to sleep. He’s quiet and still for so long, that I begin to think he’s drifted off. Then suddenly his head snaps up and he points into the dark distance.

“What’s that?” he whispers.

I look up and see two glowing spots low to the ground, looking in our direction. Some sort of creature is out there, but it’s too far away and too dark to make out any form in the grass.

“Do you think that’s one of them?” Pippin asks.

“It could be,” I say.

Pippin will figure out later that there’s no such thing as hairless cats, but for now, I let him have his little adventure. We sit there for several minutes, silently watching the glowing orbs watch us. Then the creature either closes its eyes or turns away, because the lights disappear and never return.

I don’t know when we fall asleep. One moment we’re staring out at the darkness, and the next Uncle Paladin is leaning over us, gently shaking us awake. The campfire is blazing again and the smell of sweet meats and onions is in the air. The sky above is drenched with pinks and golds and is beginning to lighten to a pale blue in the east as the sun slowly rises. Pippin is curled around me, his hands in my hair, and he’s breathing hot and sticky into my neck. A spot of drool has formed on my shirt where Pippin’s mouth hangs open. Uncle Paladin shakes him again, and he yawns and stretches, pushing his father’s hand away.

Uncle Paladin chuckles. “Fine then, Sara and I will just have to eat your breakfast for you,” he says.

That wakes Pippin faster than anything. The next instant, he’s up and at the fireside. Uncle Paladin helps me to my feet and I follow him to the fire to sit between Pippin and Father. Uncle Paladin sits down more gingerly and even Father seems to have trouble stirring the food. Uncle Paladin rubs at a crick in his neck, looking chagrined.

“Tell me again why we thought this would be fun,” he tells Father. “Every part of me aches. I’ve aches in places I didn’t even know I had.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think I slept on a rock the better part of the night,” Father says, brushing his hand along his back and side. “I can still feel the dent. I hope you lads slept better. Did you see any hairless cats before you drifted off.”

“I think so,” Pippin answers as he leans close to the fire and breathes in deeply. “We saw something anyway. It was probably just a regular cat.”

“This far from a homestead?” I ask. “And this close to the High Hay? I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Father and Uncle Paladin grin at each other over our heads and Father goes back to stirring the food.

We spend the morning in Hedge Field, Pippin and I running around to gather wildflowers for our mothers and counting molehills. We even have a race, as the summer races will be held here on the first of Afterlithe, just a month away. Pippin is still too young to race and he’ll be home in Tuckborough by then, but he proves to be a quick runner and gives me a good chase.

After second breakfast, we head home, meandering as we had the day before. Even so, we get home quicker than we had gone out, reaching Bucklebury half-past eleven. We stop at the sweets shop and we each get a cupcake to munch on for the last stretch towards home. The Hall comes into view just a few minutes later, and we reach the stables licking our fingers in appreciation. Father releases Pippin and me from helping unload, so we dash off in search of Frodo to tell him about our adventure and to hear about his.

We find Frodo in the most unlikely of places: outside in the gardens, sitting in a niche in the hedges with Iris Bolger. They’re laughing over something when Frodo looks up and sees us standing there. He’s on his feet and has crossed the distance to us before we can pick our jaws up from the floor to say hello.

“There you lads are,” he greets us, stooping down to pick up Pippin for a hug. “How was your camping adventure?”

“It was fun,” I say.

“We saw glowing eyes,” Pippin informs.

Iris stands up and comes to join us. She taps Frodo on the shoulder to make sure she has his attention. “I best be getting ready for the party,” she tells him and pauses, waiting expectantly.

“I’ll be by to pick you up just before tea,” Frodo promises and clutches Pippin to himself a little longer than he normally would have.

“I’ll see you then,” Iris says. She smiles at Pippin and me before turning away and strolling into the main garden.

“That looks promising,” I say when Iris is far enough away not to overhear.

Frodo puts Pippin down and shrugs. “She is nice enough, as Berry said, so long as you can keep her from talking about crochet. It’s no easy task, but I’m managing it. We were just talking about old times. I was telling her some of my adventures, or correcting her more like. The versions she heard were wildly exaggerated. She was telling me about some of the things she and the other lasses would get up to. They’re more devious than I thought they were. I thought Posy was an exception.”

“All lasses are devious, Frodo,” Pippin says knowledgeably. He has three older sisters, so he knows better than Frodo or me about lasses, or so he seems to think. 

“So, does Mother have something to look forward to?” I ask.

Frodo shrugs. “I don’t know, Merry. She is kind and sweet, and we got along well enough when I lived here. I just don’t think I’m ready to make that sort of commitment, not yet. We’ll see what happens in another couple of years. Now, come along. You two need to be getting ready yourselves. You look like you’ve been sleeping with wolves, and that’s no way to arrive at Saradoc’s party. You can tell me all about your adventure while you bathe.”

We do just that, telling Frodo about our quest for the hairless cats in between Pippin’s splashing about and singing of bath songs. We tell our adventure again at Father’s party, and at each telling it grows, until Pippin and I spied not just eyes in the dark but a long sleek form and a swishing tale. By the end of the night, we are telling how the form appeared to come bounding towards us, growing larger with every galloping footstep, until the creature turned away just shy of entering the firelight and ran back towards the Old Forest. I even manage to forget that I never believed in hairless cats in the first place, that I had actually been the one to make them up. In the end, they become as real for me as they are for Pippin, if only in our imaginations.  

1 Forelithe, 1419 SR
Minas Tirith, Gondor
 

“MERRY!”

Pippin’s voice shouting from outside startles Frodo, Sam and myself. We look up from peeling the potatoes just as Pippin hurtles into the kitchen of our little house on the city’s fifth circle. He’s just come off duty and his livery shines in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen’s high windows. He’s been running for a distance now, for he’s out of breath and sweating, and his livery is slightly askew on his thin frame.

“Pippin?” I say, putting down the peeler and potato, not knowing what to make of this display. There is no danger here in the city, and no one seems to have been chasing him for pure jest.

“Mer,” he breathes heavily. He leans over the table to catch his breath and when he looks up, he’s grinning from ear to ear. He bounces on his feet, recalling to memory the little lad of long ago. “Merry, Frodo,” he finally manages to get out. “You must accompany me to the fourth circle. Now. There’s something you’re not going to believe.”

He then turns around and strides out the door, heading back in the direction he just came. Frodo and I glance at each other and shrug. We have no choice now but to follow. We quickly wipe off our hands on a towel and follow after Pippin before he can get too far ahead. Sam comes with us, too curious to be left behind. We catch up with only a little difficulty and Pippin leads us to a small outdoor café on the fourth circle, where people are gathering around to stare and gape at some spectacle.

“Pippin? What—?” I begin to ask, but at my words the crowd notices us standing there. They part to let us through and there before us, like something out of a half-remembered dream, we see it.

Sitting at a table on the café patio is a finely dressed woman of noble rank, and sitting on the table on a beaded pillow is the ugliest looking thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life, orcs notwithstanding. It has the body, face and whiskers of a feline, but there’s not a hint of fur on its bony, wrinkled body. Bright green eyes stare out at the crowd in proud defiance, and its tail, so much like a rat’s tail I have to appreciate the irony of seeing it upon a cat, swishes contentedly as it bathes in the sun.

Pippin points at the cat and grins at us proudly. “A hairless cat,” he says without need. “Her husband, who is a soldier, found it in the land of the Easterlings. Only their royalty are allowed to own such cats, since they’re believe to possess magical qualities, but he was able to sneak one away, knowing she would like it. She let me pet it. It felt strange.”

“So they do exist,” I say with amusement.

“They do exist?” Frodo asks, bewildered. After everything he has seen, I would think him the least likely to doubt his own eyes, but he blinks them, rubs them and looks again. Then he grins and even gives a laugh, a welcome sight and sound indeed. “Well, of all the wonders.”

“It’s sort of ugly, ain’t it, sir?” Sam asks quietly. “It must get cold come winter.”

“She had to make it sweaters,” Pippin announces.

“A hairless cat wearing winter sweaters,” Sam says with a shake of his head. “Well, now I’ve seen and heard everything.”

Frodo and I can only nod in agreement. Whatever other surprises the world has in store for us, none will be able to compare to this.

The end

GF 1/5/08