BIRTHDAY PRESENT

Frodo opened his eyes slowly, still snuggled into his bed--well, his guest bed. Yes, it had been a good decision to come visit Crickhollow. As much as he would have preferred to have burrowed in at Bag End and never venture forth, he knew that he owed his cousins this visit. Merry, especially, would have been hurt, if he had not shown up for his birthday.

And this visit would give Sam and Rose a bit more time to themselves, before their child was born the following month.

He sat up, feeling well rested. He had slept far better than he expected to. He glanced out the little round window. While the day looked a bit dreary and overcast, that was normal for Solmath, and it didn’t look like there was snow or rain in the grey clouds above. It boded well to be a fairly pleasant day, something he had far too few of nowadays.

He threw back the covers, and shivered a bit, but the small rug by the bed kept the chill of the stone floor off his feet. He used the chamber pot, and washed up quickly, for the water in the ewer, while fresh, was cold. He decided to dress, rather than go to breakfast in his dressing gown--he’d rather got out of that bachelor’s habit since Rose had moved into Bag End. If he slacked off now, he might forget when he got back home.

He could smell breakfast cooking--sausages, mushrooms, and the yeasty smell of fresh bread, for Pippin had put dough out to rise before bed last night.

His nose led him straight to the kitchen, where Merry and Pippin, in a scene of cozy domesticity, were bustling about the business of first breakfast. They had no compunctions about dressing gowns, and Pippin’s was rather tatty-looking and a good deal too small for him. His youngest cousin’s curls had not seen a comb yet that morning either, but that appeared to be the last thing on his mind as he tended the skillet. Merry was taking a fresh loaf from the oven, and though his back was to Frodo, he said, “Good morning, Frodo! I’m surprised you are up so early. Would you mind setting the table? You know where the crockery is.”

Frodo went to the sideboard to get the plates, as Pippin took up the skillet and scraped the mushrooms and potatoes he’d been frying into a dish. He put the skillet back on the fire, and took up a bowl of beaten eggs, which he poured in with a flourish.

“You look a fright, Pip,” said Frodo in passing.

“Why thank you so much, cousin,” he replied wryly. “Didn’t Uncle Bilbo teach you never to insult the cook?”

Frodo grinned and gave him a cousinly swat to the back of his head. “I know you--you could never bring yourself to spoil good food, whatever the provocation!”

“Did you hear that, Merry? He thinks he can provoke me with impunity!” Pippin’s attempt to sound indignant was rather spoiled by the twitch of his lips.

“Well, of course he can,” was the response, as Merry turned out the new-baked loaf onto a tea towel. “He’s right you know.”

Amid much amiable wrangling, the three finally sat down to first breakfast, and Frodo found himself eating with a better appetite than he had for a good long while. True, he still could not eat so much as he once would have, but it was more than he’d eaten at one meal for weeks. And he did not feel as though his stomach were going to rebel.

After a while, the meal wound to a close. “As you lads cooked breakfast, why don’t I do the washing-up?”

“No,” said Merry. “We have our routine. It’s my day to do the washing up for breakfast. And Pippin has to gather up the weekly laundry for Mistress Bluebell to take back up to the Hall. But you could go out front and wait for the post-hobbit, if you would.”

He raised a brow at this, for it was clear his cousins were set on pampering him--Merry was not so enamored of washing up as all that. But he did not argue, and instead put on his jacket and took his pipe and went to sit on the front step.

The air was just a little damp and nippy, but not unpleasantly so. He closed his eyes, and savored the taste of Old Toby. He did not smoke so often as he used to, but this seemed like a good day for it. As he breathed out, he felt a little bump at his side, and looked down.

“Well, hello Dumpling.” It was Pippin’s ginger cat. He smiled at her, and she flopped over for her belly to be rubbed. He looked at her closely. “It looks as though you’ve been feeding kittens, my lass!” And just as he spoke, he heard a high-pitched mew, and looked to see four kittens approaching him, curious to see who was this new person who had claimed their mother’s attention.

One of the little white ones began to claw at his knee, and he was thankful for the heavy wool of his winter breeches. Not to be outdone the other white kitten also began to scramble up his leg, while the little ginger one was content to go to Dumpling’s side and attempt to nurse. Dumpling, however, had other ideas--clearly she had decided they were old enough to begin weaning, and she rolled over to put her teats out of reach. The ginger kitten cried piteously, but her mother ignored her pleas and began to wash one paw, unconcerned.

The fourth kitten stopped about a foot away, watching her brothers climb about in Frodo’s lap. She was mostly white, with a few ginger markings--most especially a charming little mark in the middle of her forehead.

“Well, little one, are you coming as well?” Frodo held his hand out to her to sniff. She must have approved of his smell, for she sandpapered his hand briefly with her little pink tongue, and then, in the universal language of cats, bumped against it in a demand to be stroked. He was obliging her, taken with her ladylike ways, and rather ignoring the other two who were now climbing up his jacket. One of them perched on his shoulder, and began to tickle his ear with its whiskers.

Unfortunately, the other one kept climbing, right on up into Frodo’s hair!
Its little claws were sharp.

“Oi!” Frodo cried, reaching up one hand. “Leave off you! I’m not a tree!”

However, his efforts were useless, as the kitten had thoroughly entangled itself in Frodo’s dark curls. He tugged with both hands causing it to yowl. This also unbalanced the other white kitten, which grabbed the sleeve of his forearm with its claws and hung on--yowling also in its turn.

Frodo felt ridiculous, and not a little alarmed. He wondered if his hair would be pulled out from his scalp. He was thoroughly annoyed then to hear both his cousins laughing at him. They had come out to see what the commotion was.

“You great lumps,” Frodo cried, torn between laughter and vexation, “don’t just stand there laughing--get this cat off my head!”

Amid much hilarity, Merry took the kitten that was dangling from Frodo’s jacket, while Pippin carefully disentangled the kitten from Frodo’s hair. “Goodness! This is worse than getting Boromir out of the bramble-bush,” Pippin chuckled. “Be still, Elladan! I’m not going to hurt you!”

Feeling the kitten coming free, Frodo said in astonishment “Elladan?”

“Yes,” said Merry. “The white ones are Elladan and Elrohir.”

“I might have known!”

Merry bent down and scooped up the other two kittens. “And these are Toffee--” he indicated the ginger kitten, “--and Strawberry.”

“They are very charming, I am sure,” said Frodo dryly, examining his scalp with one hand.

“I’m glad you think so, as one of them is to be your birthday present from me--or one of your presents, anyway.”

Frodo gaped. “Merry, you can’t be serious!” But the resolute twinkle in his Brandybuck cousin’s grey eyes gave him to know that it was no jest. He looked at the kittens, two squirming and mewing in Pippin’s hands, and two in Merry’s. They *were* rather darling. He bit his lip. “Which one?” he asked cautiously.

Merry chuckled at his older cousin’s sudden capitulation. “I thought I’d let you choose.”

Frodo grinned. “Well, then, I choose--” he reached up and took the little female with the mark on her forehead “--Strawberry. For she, at least, seems to have some manners.”

Merry and Pippin grinned at one another. “You win, Pip!”

“I knew he’d pick her!” Pippin crowed.

Frodo cuddled Strawberry, and buried his nose in her warm fur. “What Rosie will say to my coming home with a kitten, I daren’t guess.”

But, truly, he knew Rose and Sam would love this furry little lass as much as he already did.