Author's notes: This is my attempt to combine the LotR universe with the one thing I know best. Not horror, certainly not sex, but cats. My attempt to be humorous, and I'd appreciate any feedback, especially since I plan to submit this to a contest.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything LotR. If I did, I'd be in Lothlorien right now. However, Gingerhead is mine, along with six of his kind. Oh, no, correct this: I belong to them.
I know that Istari don't have familiars. If you look more carefully in the story, neither has Gandalf. It's probably the other way around. He's the cat's familiar, hehe.
This could well qualify as a LotR/Garfield crossover. Why? Read on and find out.
Dedicated to my kitties…
Gandalf's Familiar: The tenth member of the fellowship.
The 'Lord of the Rings' as seen through the eyes of a cat.
Chapter 1: Born again.
Gingerhead's POV.
Cats have nine lives.
My third life began with wondering which of my past deeds deserved this. Certainly, I had been the terror of mice and birds, having devoured countless of their kin. But I am a cat and this only natural. And although I've eaten fish and snakes and hares and piglets, my heart's secret desire has always been a dragon stew. And I swear I have never harmed a dragon, although I won't promise to behave myself if I ever get to meet one. And I still fail to see what karmic debt has thrown me in this life.
My first memory was the soft purring of my mother, but it was quickly overshadowed by the feeling of suffocation. I remember gasping for breath, fighting with what I will always hate; water. I kicked and clawed, but in vain, for it seemed that I would soon follow my siblings to a wet grave. And then my paws finally grasped something; something soft and warm and I hooked on it as if my life depended on it.
Well, it did depend on it.
I coughed and I spat, and as soon as I could breathe I stared at the creature that had saved my life. Well, not really. I was doing perfectly well on my own and I had no need of rescue, thank you. So, on with my tale; I took a good look at the creature that was kind enough to pledge himself as my life-long servant.
Oh, curses! Another human. I was hoping for an elf. Cats and elves have similar habits. Both species enjoy the company of trees, ignore the rest of the world and groom themselves obsessively. And behold, I was stuck with yet another human. Just like the one who considered my littermates and I as a threat to his household and dealt with us by throwing us in the stream. I hope in his next life he'll come back as a mouse.
My new servant is obviously old. Not good. I suspect he lacks the vital energy to tend to my needs? I require at least four meals daily, frequent grooming and I won't even start with personal hygiene. He also smells funny, and I think I see smoke coming from his mouth. Strange, I've only heard that dragons can do this. He doesn't look like one, though. Oh, well, one bite will clear this up. Nope. He's not a dragon. I think I will dump him when the first opportunity arises and go live with the elves.
While I was making plans for my escape, he reached out to touch me despite my bite. Naturally, I hissed at him. And then he laughed. How dare he laugh at me? Doesn't he know it when he's in the presence of his master?
~*~
On his way to the Shire, Gandalf the Grey heard a scream from the waters of a stream nearby. Not a human cry, but this of a kitten. He paused his journey and inspected the bank. Some farmer had thought to dispose of a litter of kittens by drowning them. The old mage sighed, always saddened of how human cruelty had no limits. He reached and pulled out the last surviving kitten, a little ginger-coloured male. The kitten cough and spit, and the wizard was amused by the intelligent glance he granted him. He tried to stroke his back, but he bit his finger and hissed. Gandalf burst in laughter. Then he reached out for the kitten, and this time he caught him and took him in his arms.
"Come on, little fellow," the old wizard said kindly. "Let's travel along for a while". He stared at his huge, round eyes. "I think I will call you Smaugling, little one, for I see in you the heart of a dragon".
~*~
Gingerhead's POV.
Is there any chance you could see in me the breast of a chicken, as well? Close death experiences get me hungry, you know. And Smaugling, what kind of name is this? Are you a mage or something, thinking of such ridiculous names? In case you are interested, I already have a name; Gingerhead, and I will not respond to any other than this. I probably will not respond to this either, but no need to tell you that up front.
Fine, so his beard is rather soft, much like my mother's fur. I think I will stick with you for a while.
Until I meet some elves, that is....
~*~
Gandalf smiled as he saw the tiny creature knead his beard purring and then falling asleep on his lap, as he drove his carriage to Shire, to meet Bilbo for his birthday party.
Such an innocent little soul, he thought to himself.
Oh, well. Wizards don't know everything, after all.