Early Thrimidge
Never let it be said that Mr. Frodo Baggins of Bag End did not enjoy the careless, sunny life he led. Of course there was Sam, but Sam was self-sufficient in a very convenient way and, all in all, Frodo was constantly pleased with doing as he pleased when it pleased him. He had no one else to take care of, save for Samwise and that was a very rudimentary thing.
When spring came, Frodo's cousin Merry came up from Buckland every now and then, usually staying no more than a few hours on his way to visit this lass or that inn. From time to time Merry came on extended vacations, sometimes with Freddy or Folco, but generally alone. This time when Frodo answered the door to his cousin he was handed a kitten not two months old.
"A moggy!" Frodo exclaimed, holding her up. "Well, I'll be."
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"There's been a swarm of them since Rethe," Merry explained over the customary welcoming cup of tea. "Mother won't stand to have so many in the Hall and I thought, might as well bring one to Frodo."
"I'll bet anything she thought it was a stellar idea," said Frodo, amused.
"She said you'd do it well." Merry paused. "And it you."
The kitten lay under the table, pawing at a ball of yarn that Frodo had fished out of Sam's credenza in the bedroom. Every so often, it would languidly take a sup of the cream that Frodo had set for it in a small, terra cotta dish. It made precious mewing sounds from time to time. Frodo was hopelessly gone on the cat.
"What shall I name him?" he asked, eyes wide as he felt the small beast nuzzle his leg.
"Before you go naming anything I should break your heart and tell you it's a she," said Merry, draining the last of the tea in his cup. "Not every creature to walk the Shire is male, you know."
"I know that." Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Why do you put it like that?"
Merry looked around at Frodo's tea service – the best silver money could buy; engraved with tiny flowers. Then, he looked towards his cousin, who was wearing a mint-and-rose patterned apron, presumably because he'd been fixing tea. Merry smiled. "I didn't mean anything."
"Oh, yes you did!"
"I just don't see very many ladies about Bag End these days."
"Well, now we have one," said Frodo, lifting the cat.
"Yes, now you have one. Just don't, you know, let it near any male cats."
"Why not?" Frodo inquired. "I should be quite disappointed if I were never to see any male cats. I mean … I mean … well, you know what I mean." Merry nodded.
"I know what you mean. But let me put it this way: If she gets too involved with a male cat, you'll end up with more of them than you ever wanted. I should know. We're overrun at Brandy Hall."
"You mentioned."
"Yeah." Merry reached for the teapot, and found it to be empty. He was thinking of asking Frodo to boil some more water, but his train of thought was interrupted.
"So what do I name her?" he asked again, stroking her head dreamily and enjoying the calm that came with holding a kitten in one's lap.
"I don't know." Merry looked at the feline's small, delicate face and nothing came to him. She was an all-white cat – only the best were bred at Brandy Hall. "She's very pretty. You could give her an elf name, like."
"I think I shall," Frodo concluded, setting his new pet on the floor again. She went straight back to the little dish of cream. "Does Luthien sound appropriate?" he asked. "I suppose I should name her after my mother, since I don't think I'll be having a daughter for the honor. But I don't reckon the folk around here would be looking very kindly on that."
"No," said Merry. "Seems disrespectful. 'Luthien' should be fine."
Frodo nodded. "Anything else, then?"
"I'd fancy another pot of tea, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," said Frodo pleasantly as he lifted the teapot with his two hands. Secretly, he would much rather shower his attentions on his new cat, but there would be time for such later. He would have to go into town and purchase all of the necessaries – a bed, and a satchel of catnip, and a lovely pink ribbon for her neck. And of course, Sam would want to meet the kitten. Frodo could barely wait to introduce them.
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Frodo had been back from his errands for an hour already and Sam had not returned yet from wherever he snuck off to when Frodo had company. Probably the tavern, Frodo mused, as he clutched Luthien's small body in his arms. Or perhaps he was merely somewhere out in the gardens carefully tending to watermelons or something, a patch of such that required hours of attention. Frodo himself knew nothing about plants or flowers or vegetables besides their aesthetic values to him – plants and flowers could be lovely and brightened the gardens; produce provided suitable side dishes at supper.
His time in town well-spent, Frodo had relaxed in the parlor with Luthien, who was quickly becoming very dear to him. He'd carried her into Hobbiton in his arms and carefully made his way from shop to booth, selecting items he felt were needed if a kitten was to take up permanent residence in Bag End. He'd spent more money than Bilbo used to pay Sam for a week's worth of toil with the begonias, but Frodo felt it was worth it.
A selection of fantastic accessories was due to be delivered to the front door the next morning. Frodo had picked out a length of silk ribbon, which would go beautifully with Luthien's sleek, white fur, and a gregarious bed made of cherry wood and topped with a lovely fuchsia cushion. Then there were the toys – several craftsmen in Hobbiton made them especially for pets and Frodo had not resisted any of them. With the bed still on delivery, Luthien would sleep with Frodo tonight. He hoped Sam wouldn't mind, but how could he? One look at the cat and Frodo had fallen in love. Surely Sam's heart would be just as easily conquered.
As Frodo was busy with the kitten, scratching her behind the ears, he did not hear the front door open and shut. Nor did he realize that the subtle thumping noises were growing closer, until he heard someone clear his throat. Frodo looked up to see Sam in the doorway, the knees of his green pants covered in mud.
"What happened to you?" Frodo asked, tearing his eyes away from the cat.
"How's that?" Sam asked.
"Your breeches are muddy," Frodo said pointedly.
"I was working."
"Right, then." Frodo looked back down at the cat.
"What's that?" Sam inquired, gesturing toward Luthien and interrupting Frodo's quiet moment.
"This is Luthien." A finger beckoned Sam to come sit down next to Frodo, whose eyes gave the customary warning of don't dirty my parlor, which Sam always strove to avoid doing.
"She wander in, then?" Sam did not seem very engaged with the cat that Frodo found to be the pinnacle of precious.
"Merry brought her. Would you believe it? They're swarming at the Hall, and Merry brought me a kitten. Her name's Luthien."
"You said as much. Are you going to keep her?"
Frodo was indignant. "Of course I'm going to keep her!" He searched Sam's eyes for a sign of approval, but the other hobbit did not relent. Immediately, a wash of sadness enveloped Frodo. Something was wrong here. "Aren't you going to kiss me hello?" he asked, eyes down.
"Can't," Sam announced, struggling to his feet. "I'm caked in mud, remember?"
"All right," Frodo snapped. "When can you have dinner ready?"
"After I've bathed."
"Right, then. Don't be long, Sam."
"I won't be."
Sam turned out of the parlor and Frodo caught a glimpse of his ankle before it disappeared; he looked back at Luthien.
"He'll love you, I swear," Frodo told the cat, who looked at him dubiously. "No, he will. I swear it. Just give him a day." Luthien mewed softly and pawed at Frodo's arm, which the hobbit took as an encouraging gesture.
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Frodo wandered into the kitchen to procure another dish of cream for Luthien. He was not surprised to see Sam at the table, cutting potatoes into thin slices. "Pie's in the oven," he announced, pointing to the general hearth area. "Will lamb do?" he asked, eyes on the potatoes and attention on Frodo.
"Do be careful with that, Sam," Frodo cautioned as he slid the cat's milk dish off the table and onto the floor.
"I will be."
"Sam?" Frodo asked, stepping back from the table.
"Frodo?"
"Sam, you haven't said anything about Luthien."
"Sad story," Sam responded, slicing quickly and aggressively. "But I suppose it worked out okay in the end. That's how it goes with lovers like them, bittersweet endings and such."
"I meant the cat," Frodo corrected, sliding into the chair across from Sam.
"Oh, the cat," Sam exclaimed overenthusiastically. "Right. What about her?"
"Do you like her?" Sam stopped cutting and looked at Frodo. The knife he had been using fell on the cutting board with a discernable noise and Frodo flinched at the thought of a nick in one of Bilbo's good knives.
Sam sighed and leaned back. Frodo began to say something like "if you don't like her," but he hadn't any consequence or conciliation in the case that Sam didn't appreciate the cat, so he quickly shut his mouth.
There was silence for a few minutes, save for the sounds of Sam's blade slicing through potatoes and scraping against the wooden cutting board. Frodo glanced down at his kitten. She was snoozing, seemingly, or just resting, but she seemed content. Looking back to Sam, who was just finishing up on the potato, Frodo sighed wearily, put his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands.
After completing his task, Sam laid the knife down on the cutting board. "So," Sam began tentatively, "what are you planning on doing with the cat?"
Astonished that anyone could ask such a question, Frodo practically choked. "I'm not going to do anything with her," he stressed.
"But you've got to keep her around for some reason," Sam insisted. "Other than just to have, if you take my meaning."
"I'm afraid I do not."
"Well, it's like this: Most everyone I know who's got a cat sets it to some use. Say, mousing in the smial – "
"Bag End doesn't have any mice, thank you."
" – or going after moles in the garden. That sort of thing. She'd chase the rabbits out of the carrot patch, I reckon."
"You will not take my moggy outside to be a dirty garden cat! I shan't allow it!" Sam was jolted by this sudden shriek and looked up to find Frodo standing at the kitchen table, clutching the edge with a tense grip. His eyes flashed with the sort of rage at having one's will crossed that came from having grown up in privileged homes and lacking for nothing.
"Fine," Sam said coolly.
"Okay then." Frodo's eyes dimmed but he didn't loosen his knuckles and Sam noticed that his nails were digging slightly into the varnish.
"Love?" Sam asked, feeling that he may have pressed too hard on something that he couldn't name.
"Let me know when you've got food on the table," Frodo announced, freeing his grasp of the wood to fetch his kitten from the floor. He kissed Luthien on the nose, looked at Sam with his best disparaging gaze, and fled the scene.
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The days to follow featured five or six stunning fights between Sam and Frodo. Most were about Luthien, but the tension had escalated so high in so few days that the two of them began to pick fights about other things. At one point, Sam brought Frodo out to look at a crop of hydrangeas and ask an opinion, but Frodo merely screamed that Sam's hydrangeas replaced Frodo's beloved wildflower patch, and how dare Sam trample on something that meant so much to him.
Later on, Frodo pointed out that Sam was wearing his weskit inside out, which caused Sam to launch into an extended rant on how when he was growing up he didn't own any weskits with fancy lining, so it really wasn't fair to assault his poor judgment which was the result of an unfortunate upbringing.
Still, Luthien was the cause of several animated quarrels. When Frodo brought her to sleep with him in the master bedroom that first night, Sam made a deliberate point of sleeping in a guest bedroom, which led Frodo to sob uncontrollably for an hour. The next morning, Frodo was purposefully rude to Sam, and made several comments about how fat he was, and how miserable he had made Frodo the night before.
Secretly, both Frodo and Sam were miserable with this arrangement. Sam wanted to make Frodo happy, truly, and Frodo wanted Sam to make him happy, so it took only a few days to sort out their problems. The quarrels ended with more of a cease fire than a formal conclusion. On Luthien's fifth night at Bag End, she slept in her bed in Frodo's study and Sam slept with Frodo in his arms, which was how all three of them were ultimately happiest.
Early Wedmath
"Truth be told, Fro, I think she's getting a mite fleshy," Fredegar exclaimed as he leaned over his knees to lift Luthien onto his lap for the first time in quite a spell.
"Yes, well, you would know, wouldn't you, Freddy?" Frodo asked, clearly bitter that anyone one dare insult the cat of the Master of Bag End.
"I'm no expert and I don't mean to be insulting, but she's quite a bit heavier this time. It's all I'm saying."
Frodo nodded and gingerly uncrossed his arms. "No, you aren't an expert, are you?" he asked. The hobbit everyone but Frodo called 'Fatty' shook his head. "But I have noticed her weight recently."
"Ho ho!" Fredegar exclaimed victoriously. "Not so off the mark, am I?"
"No, you're not. Quit laughing, Freddy, I mean it." Fatty shrugged and handed Luthien back to Frodo. She purred her irritated purr and shrugged in Frodo's arms. "If you want to know the truth, I'm worried for her."
"Don't take on so, Frodo," Fatty warned. "Cats get hefty all the time – 'specially the ones that get treated well."
"I don't feed her table scraps, if that's what you're implying."
"Nothing of the sort," said Fatty. "But you tend to coddle her – "
"Don't accuse me of overfeeding my cat," Frodo interrupted. "I haven't done anything of the sort."
Fatty slumped in his chair and thought carefully for a moment. "So what are you thinking?" Frodo asked in his most apprehensive voice.
"Has she been seeing any male cats lately?"
"I assure you she hasn't," Frodo said proudly.
"Can you be certain? There're scores of cats in the Shire, wandering around with no discernable owners or what have you. Has she ever been out of your sight?"
"Well, she tends to go off sometimes, but I'm sure she stays in the smial."
"Oh, yeah?" Freddy asked. "How can you be sure?"
Frodo thought very hard. To him, it was obvious that Luthien could never have gone outside – she was his cat, after all, and he hadn't taken her outside. She never came back dirty. Would Sam have taken her into the garden? No, Sam didn't enjoy the company of cats. Was it really possible that she might have wandered off on her own?
"Well, here's a clincher," Fatty announced, interrupting Frodo's musings. "Have you taken care of her female bits?"
"Have I what?" Frodo asked, almost choking on his words in shock.
"You know, have you taken her to have her female bits removed so she can't have kittens?"
Frodo shook his head. "That's preposterous! Who would do such a thing to a cat?" Such cruelty seemed unimaginable, especially since Frodo did not relish the thought of his poor Luthien in pain.
"It seems to me, Fro – and please remember I'm no expert – that your cat is probably suffering from a case of gestation," Fatty concluded.
"She hasn't had any symptoms," Frodo whimpered, suddenly looking at the dozing Luthien as if she were an alien creature he didn't know.
"Cats won't suffer their woes in front of you," Fatty explained. "She probably drags herself off into one of your wardrobes or something. I'm not an expert – "
"You mentioned."
" – but I've seen a few cats give birth in my day. Stella had a lovely little tabby one when we were growing up; she had kittens that we gave away."
"I remember," Frodo recalled. "Bilbo wouldn't let me take one." Fatty was able to recollect that Aunt Esmeralda had taken in the entire litter. "And now Brandy Hall is overrun, Merry said," Frodo pronounced grimly. "That's where Luthien came from."
"I'd treat her well, if I were you."
"I always treat her well," Frodo said defensively.
"Better than well!" Fatty confirmed. "If she keeps getting larger, and my suspicions are correct, there's not much you can do. Give her a few weeks – she'll skive off one day and when you find her, she'll be nursing her little ones."
"And I don't have to do anything, do I?"
"Well," said Fatty thoughtfully. "You'll have to tell Sam." Frodo's stomach did a flip. Sam was no fan of cats. Luthien he could handle, but what if there were more?
Suddenly, Fatty was on his feet, making his way to the parlor door. Frodo turned to see Sam, who had made quite a habit of turning up at the poorest times. "Master Fredegar," he said with an enthusiastic smile. "It's good to see you." Fatty shook Sam's hand, but no more.
"I was just on my way out, actually."
"I thought you were staying for tea!" Frodo exclaimed.
"I was, but I'm sure you'd rather discuss things with your Samwise alone. Always a pleasure, Fro." He returned to Frodo's chair and patted his stunned friend on the back. "I'll pop back in a few days from now to see how it goes. Ta!" Fatty was very good at quick exits and generally wriggling his way out of trouble.
"What was that about?" Sam asked, kissing Frodo's cheek and settling in Fatty's unused chair.
"How are Marigold's tubers coming along?" Frodo asked, obviously sidestepping the issue. "You forgot to tell me."
Sam sighed. "I know you better than that, love," he said. "You weren't discussing vegetables just now."
"No, we weren't," Frodo admitted. The cat on his lap perked up and hopped off. As she made her way across to Sam, Frodo tried to notice if there was anything different in her gait. Was it his imagination, or was she holding herself with extra caution?
Luthien rubbed her furry cheek against Sam's leg, and Sam reached down to scratch her behind her ear. "It's taken me a while to get used to having her about the place," he admitted. "But now I can't see you without her." He sighed again and leaned back, exhausted from a day of running errands and working outside. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Frodo himself sighed and closed his eyes. "Yes, there was," he said nervously. "I don't know how to say this. I feel like such a dolt."
"You're no dolt, love," Sam assured him. "What's wrong?"
"Best to just say it, I suppose," Frodo muttered. "Freddy and I think she might be expecting."
"Who is? Master Fredegar?" Sam chuckled to himself.
"No," said Frodo, eyes on Sam to gage his reaction. "Luthien may be. Least, that's what we thought."
"Oh," said Sam, whose head went immediately down to give the cat a good look over.
"Oh?" Frodo asked. Sam shrugged. He looked up and at Frodo, who felt as though he might expire from the humiliation. Why did he have to be such an idiot? "I swear I didn't do anything to make it happen."
"I know you didn't, love. You're no wizard." Sam nodded. "I'd better go get tea started."
"Yes," said Frodo, still hesitant to make any sudden moves. "What are we having?" He suddenly realized that he was very hungry.
"Scones for you and me," Sam answered, "and a dish of cream for Luthien. Is that all right, Frodo?"
"Yes, yes," Frodo said in his distracted state. "Quite fine." Sam left the room, Luthien curled up under Sam's vacated seat, and Frodo sank into the chair, confused by the relief and tension warred inside him. He looked at little Luthien, his kitten, and groaned. At least he could look forward to scones for tea.
Mid-Halimath
Sam had spent the whole morning at his sister's place, where he liked to think of himself as the service impresario of the smial. Why Tom couldn't do more of these maintenance things he didn't know, but for his troubles Marigold usually sent him home with a plate of cake or something.
As Sam shut the front door behind him, he peeked under the red and white checked cloth that Marigold had tucked around the baked goods. He found lemon bars nestled in abundance, waxy-looking chunks of yellow grease that Sam knew to judge not by their appearance but by their finer qualities. He tucked the cloth back around the compensation for a day's worth of work on odd jobs and started for home.
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Sam was not exactly dreading his return to Bag End. He was trying very hard to be the utmost paragon of reason by telling himself that these cats were going to be part of his life now, like it or not. If anything, Sam reasoned, he should thank this litter of kittens (and Luthien herself) for making Frodo so inexplicably happy. Sam wanted nothing more than to bring light and ease into Frodo's life. If a basket of cats at the foot of their bed was all it took to inject some joy into Frodo's life, so be it.
It was just … odd, wasn't it? Yesterday morning there had only been one cat and now there were a half dozen of them. And at the center of this whole affair was Frodo himself, blissfully unaware that cats could be a downfall. Sam tried not to dwell on the image of what their lives might become if all six cats went on to procreate continuously. Before long, Bag End's glistening polished surfaces would be dull with a varnish of claws. Interior design was more Frodo's headache than his own, but these matters shouldn't be taken lightly. Sam had grown up in a very humble smial and to him, dirtying an estate like Bag End with cat hair seemed sacrilegious.
Sam's first inclination was always to head for the kitchen. He set Marigold's lemon bars down on the table. He assumed that Frodo would be quite absorbed in his own business – cat business – and wouldn't miss Sam for a few minutes. So Sam did as he was wont to do and helped himself to a lemon bar.
Having grown up with a mother and three older sisters who baked with consistent devotion, Sam found it impossible to imagine what those without a batch of bakers in their midst must have smelled when they awoke at dawn with nary a fresh loaf of bread cooling on the windowsill. Then again, most hobbits who didn't do their own baking also preferred to sleep well past dawn.
Sam thought about pastries as he chewed his lemon bar, enjoying the subtleties of his younger sister's baking. She'd added chopped peel to the batter, Sam believed, and he could taste the difference. There was an extra stab of tartness where once there hadn't been. Finishing the lemon bar was easy and Sam began to think about having another one, but he was interrupted by a loud and pronounced "hullo" and he looked up to see Frodo, almost completely obscured by the basket of kittens in his arms. Luthien was at his feet, staring ominously at the basket that contained her litter. Sam sprang into action and helped Frodo set the basket down. He pointed out Marigold's lemon bars, but not before greeting Frodo with "hullo, yourself" and a kiss.
"I've named them all," Frodo announced happily.
"Oh." Previous to this comment, there had been in Sam's heart a sliver of hope that perhaps Frodo would not name the cats but, of course, that was a ridiculous thing to think. For some months now, Frodo's existence had revolved around Luthien; it seemed that he was steadily making this new crop just another five members of the family.
"What have you named them?" Sam asked halfheartedly.
"Do you see that little white one there? The one that looks like Luthien when she was a kitten?" Sam nodded. "She's Fluffy. The slightly larger white one with the orange patches is Sugar Dumpling. The mostly orange one with the white markings on her tail is Angel Pie. The other orange one with the white around his eyes is Sweet Heart. Lovely names, don't you think?" Frodo was grinning, quite obviously pleased with himself.
"Lovely, yes," Sam agreed. "But what about the other one?"
"Which? The striped one?" Sam nodded, and Frodo went to the basket and retrieved the kitten in question. "I'm afraid I haven't thought of anything yet. I was thinking about what cats like to eat, and I figured I'd pick something to do with fish."
"What did you come up with?"
Frodo blushed. "I don't want to tell you," he stammered. "It's so silly, Sam. You'll think so much less of me."
"I could never think less of you," Sam admitted. "What did you name the cat?" Frodo mumbled something inaudible. "How's that?" Sam cocked an ear. "I'm afraid I didn't catch it."
"Tuna," Frodo repeated bashfully. "Tuna La-La, or something like that." Sam burst out laughing.
"That's ridiculous!" he cried. "Why not just name it 'Faffy Taffy' or something?"
"I think I might," Frodo mumbled. Sam stopped laughing.
"Pardon?"
"I say, I might name the cat Faffy Taffy." He licked his lips. "Or I might let you name it." Sam went pale.
"I don't think – "
"I want you to name one of the kittens, Sam." Frodo handed the orange-and-white stripped creature to the other hobbit, who flinched until the cat settled on his lap. "They're yours too, you know. Go on. Name her."
Sam thought for a moment, trying to let his love of Frodo tackle his annoyance with small, furry things. "I suppose I should call it 'the cat,'" he said, hands on the table and not the small animal.
"Oh, that simply will not do," cried Frodo, setting down Luthien. "Try again, dearest."
"Moggy?" asked Sam. "Or Kitty," he suggested nervously.
Frodo shook his head. "No! Give her a real name." Sam began to sweat. The look in Frodo's eyes was fearsome and intense. And over something so inane as cat monikers! Sam was glad that Frodo became passionate about things from time to time, but this was really very silly of him. The unnamed creature in Sam's lap stretched, and Sam grimaced as its newborn claws dug gently through his trousers.
"I can't do this, Frodo," he said. "It's digging into my leg. Can't you just name it? Your names are so," he paused. "Original."
"Samwise Gamgee, if you do not name that moggy I shall go stay at Great Smials for a month and you will wake every night with six cats dozing on my side of the bed." Sam felt threatened by very few things; this was one of them.
"You wouldn't!" Frodo nodded. "I don't know what to name it! Just call it … just call it 'Boots.'" Frodo shook his head.
"Mittens." Frodo did not like that one either.
"Whiskers?" Frodo was beginning to tear for some reason. Why was it so important to him that Sam get on with these cats? He looked to and fro for something stupid to call the kitten. He spied one of Marigold's cookies on the kitchen table. "Lemony Biscuit?" he asked dubiously.
"Oh, Sam!" Frodo yelped, and in an instant had removed Luthien from his lap and jumped into Sam. "It's perfect."
"Is it?"
"I couldn't have thought of a better name myself." Frodo kissed Sam on the cheek and then kissed the kitten on its head. The kitten mewled at the soft touch of Frodo's lips. "Do you like that, Lemony Biscuit?" he asked her. "What a good kitty! And what a good name." He kissed Sam again, this time on the lips. "You have a knack, Samwise," Frodo drawled, stroking the tiny kitten near the ears. "I should hope you'd help me name the other cats, then, as well."
"Oh no," said Sam. "No, no, no. You said I would name this one – "
"Lemony Biscuit," Frodo interjected.
"Yes, Lemony Biscuit. You said to name Lemony Biscuit, and no others." Frodo pouted. "I shan't be able to top it, love," he said sadly, hoping that Frodo would leave him alone.
"You're right," he admitted, cradling the cat close between his and Sam's chests. "Anyhow, I suppose I know what you can top, if you're of such a mind." A small smile spread across Frodo's face, and he slid off of Sam's knees, careful not to step on Luthien. Frodo deposited Lemony Biscuit back into the basket with her brothers and sisters. "Shall we, then?"
"Shall we which?" Sam asked, hoping that Frodo didn't want to ensnare him in some sort of fangled cat-bathing or combing or dressing or anything else, really. Nothing to do with cats – at least, nothing more today, thanks.
Frodo was kneeling by the basket of kittens, lifting each of their tiny little bodies and bestowing upon each a gentle buss on the head. Some of them mewled, but none awoke. "I think they're tired," Frodo announced. "It's been an exciting day, after all." He rose to his feet and set softly over to Sam, hoping he would not disturb the slumbering cats. Luthien, who was still under the table, pawed Frodo's foot, which served to muss his foot hair. Frodo smiled at his cat lovingly and looked back to Sam, whose eyes still registered fear – what was he in for now?
Frodo sat back down on Sam's knees, now bearing tiny little scratches where Lemony Biscuit had dug into his pants. "I've had enough of this mothering for now," Frodo announced, kissing Sam's open mouth once more. "I think they'll sleep for a while. At least, they won't awake before you're finished ravishing me. We'll just be quiet, is all."
"You can't be," Sam teased. "Not if you tried."
"I would for the little darlings," Frodo said softly, clearly making good on his words. He slid off of Sam's lap and disappeared around a corner, out of the kitchen. Sam smiled widely and raised himself from his seat. On his way out of the room, he paused for a moment to watch the mass of furry shapes shift against each other as five little kittens softly slept.
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"I've not heard you keep so quiet in forever," Sam mused as he yawned. "Those cats have a wonderful effect on you."
"And Merry predicted as much. Least, his mother did." Frodo yawned too and inched closer to Sam, who welcomed him with a pat on the bottom. "Oh, you had your turn already," Frodo said, sleep creeping into his voice.
"Don't go falling asleep now," Sam said with a poke. "I'm not getting up to feed Luthien."
"She's well fed," Frodo murmured.
"What are we going to do with six full-grown cats in the smial?" Sam asked. Frodo's eyes, which had drifted shut, flew open.
"Oh, Sam," he sighed. "We can't keep six cats!"
"We can't?" This was a revelation to Sam, who had spent months now envisioning Bag End overrun with cats in heat, rutting in the fireplaces.
"You can keep Lemony Biscuit for the garden, of course – now that you've bonded. And I'll keep my Luthien to myself. The others will have to go elsewhere, I'm afraid. I don't want to deal with six cats. Can you imagine it? We'd be living in a circus, especially once they all started having litters."
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Frodo plowed on, sadness in his voice again. "I always feel such regret that I can't give you a smial full of children. I can't even give you a home full of cats."
"I don't particularly like cats," Sam reminded him.
"Well, of course you don't. But what about the children?"
"Bugger children."
"I don't think you would," Frodo sighed, closing his eyes again. "They'd waste no time throwing you in the lock holes, after all. But I might show you something you could bugger."
"Not twice in one afternoon, I couldn't." Frodo yawned against Sam's chest, his grip on the other hobbit's shoulders slipping simultaneously. Sam waited for an answer, but all he heard was Frodo's soft snoring.