Better Than Tonic

Pippin lay on his side, and though he faced away from the door he knew by the drafty air creeping into his room from the hallway that it had been opened.

He remained perfectly still, waiting, but heard no footsteps, no sound of breathing other than his own.

A light dip in the mattress was followed by another, and another. Pippin tensed, waiting for something (another cool cloth, perhaps, though a bitter mouthful of tonic was more likely) but nothing happened.

Something soft dragged across his arm – another blanket? Squeezing his eyes shut for the inevitable attack, Pippin did not see the pair of blue eyes hovering close to his own.

There was a light whirring noise, and Pippin’s eyes flew open just as the tiny bundle of fur settled itself in the crook of his elbow.

With a smile, Pippin reached for the miniature creature, which stared back at him curiously. He smoothed his hands over white fur with orange patches before reaching for the tiny scrap of parchment tied with a yellow ribbon around the kitten’s neck.

I’ll bet you were expecting more tonic.

Laughing hoarsely, Pippin finally turned over to see Merry standing in the doorway, grinning.