frodobaggins
FRODO'S JOURNAL - A day in the life of a Hobbit of the Shire. (Pre-Quest Years)
Chippy
lord of the ringsI expected to have a rather quiet day, but it ended up a bit busier than I planned. First of all I let myself be talked into helping Folco Boffin find a suitable gift for Sparrow Singswell that would serve as a form of apology for his behaviour the night of my dinner party. It seems that Folco is genuinely concerned about the impression that he left on Miss Sparrow.
At any rate, I agreed to help him. He said he had been thinking about a bouquet, but fresh flowers are hard to come by this time of year. So, after much perusal of some of the shops in Bywater, we found a nice leather portfolio that would do for holding her sheet music. Folco actually had his eye on a little silver brooch shaped like a harp, but I convinced him that jewelry would be much too personal. In the end, he chose the portfolio. The shopkeeper even agreed to wrap it up and have it delivered to Sparrow’s address in Undertowers, along with a gift card.
By the time we finished with that business, it was getting on towards lunchtime, so Folco and I had a bite to eat at The Ivy bush before parting company to go our separate ways. When I got home I found Fatty Bolger sitting on my front porch. I could tell he was in a bit of an agitated state, because although he held his pipe clenched tightly between his teeth, it wasn’t lit. I wondered if I was going to be drafted into going on another gift buying spree. But apparently Fatty wasn’t as susceptible to a bothersome conscience as Folco was. His reason for waiting on my porch had to do with the fact that he had accidently let out his aunt's favourite cat, her best mouser as a matter of fact. This particular cat was also known to be a bit of a ...well...to put it bluntly...a trollop. She had already had three litters in the past six months and lately she had been yowling and rolling and generally displaying all the signs common to a kitty ready for some tom to show her a good time. The last thing Fatty's aunt wanted was another litter of kittens meowing under her feet.
"Fredegar Bolger!" She had threatened, "You had better find that cat and find her fast!"
Poor Fatty had looked high and low, but no sign of "Chippy". (Apparently an appropriate name for the animal.) So, he had come to ask if I had happened to see the cat hanging around. I answered sympathetically that, no I hadn’t, but as I didn’t have any reason for a cat to particularly want to hang around my door, it wasn’t likely if she had passed this way that she would stop here for long. But I did volunteer to help him look for Chippy.
The weather had turned off much colder than it had been when I was out earlier with Folco. As we walked about in the frigid air, I wondered that any creature would willingly be out prowling in this cold.
After two and a half cold, miserable hours of walking around Hobbiton and alternating between calls of "Here kitty, kitty!" and "Here, Chippy!" our voices were beginning to sound a little hoarse. We’d worked our way back around to Bagshot Row and the Gamgee’s place at Number 3, and still no sight or sound of the cat. That is, until we heard an unearthly howling and caterwauling coming from the back of the Gamgee’s Hole. It sounded not like one cat, but a whole party of felines.
Fatty and I made a dash in the direction of the commotion. Fatty nearly ran over Hamfast Gamgee. The racket had brought him outside, either from curiosity or to try and put a stop to the awful din.
"What in The Shire....? he began, but as soon as he saw what was going on he turned right around and headed back inside.
I had been right when I had guessed that there was more than one cat involved, there were three, Chippy and two suitors. I don’t think I need go into detail or describe what was going on. I will simply say that the fur was flying. It was hard to tell if any one of them was enjoying themselves, from the yowling, and hissing and spitting. I would wager, however, that Chippy was going to be too exhausted to do any mousing the rest of the day.
"Frodo, however am I going to get them apart?" My friend lamented.
I’m afraid I wasn’t much help to him there. I had no inclination to put myself in the middle of a cat carousal. But before I could finish shrugging my shoulders, The Gaffer reappeared carrying a bucket of water, which he threw over the cats with a great splash. They wasted little time in scattering. Fatty dashed after Chippy, who he caught pretty quickly, because she stopped to shake the water off, then sat herself down under a bare Hawthorn tree to "lick herself dry". (I still haven’t worked out the logic to that.) One of the toms disappeared over the fence, and the other, who happened to belong to the Gamgees, made himself scarce by vanishing into the woodshed.
The Gaffer was kind enough to invite us to tea , even offering to let Fatty bring Chippy in by the fire to dry off, but he politely declined, saying that since he’d been gone too long looking for her as it was, he’d better see that he got her home straightaway. Instead, the Gaffer loaned Fatty a towel to wrap the cat in until he could get her home. It was enough that he was returning the cat possibly "in the family way" as the Gaffer put it, but to have her catch cold would have made matters worse. I offered to accompany him, thinking maybe he’d be less likely to get "lectured to" in front of a friend. But again, he declined, mainly because he feared he would receive and didn’t want the embarrassment of me hearing him "catch it."
I let him go rather reluctantly. I didn’t like seeing my good natured friend looking so glum. However, he cheered up considerably when Marigold fixed him a basket filled with a generous quantity of currant scones along with some butter and sweet cream. I watched him depart, cat under one arm and basket on the other. There was nothing for me to do but accept the offer of tea, which I did. So, quite happily, I sat down with the Gamgees to enjoy some of those lovely scones and a steaming cup of tea before I headed back out into the frigid air.
At any rate, I agreed to help him. He said he had been thinking about a bouquet, but fresh flowers are hard to come by this time of year. So, after much perusal of some of the shops in Bywater, we found a nice leather portfolio that would do for holding her sheet music. Folco actually had his eye on a little silver brooch shaped like a harp, but I convinced him that jewelry would be much too personal. In the end, he chose the portfolio. The shopkeeper even agreed to wrap it up and have it delivered to Sparrow’s address in Undertowers, along with a gift card.
By the time we finished with that business, it was getting on towards lunchtime, so Folco and I had a bite to eat at The Ivy bush before parting company to go our separate ways. When I got home I found Fatty Bolger sitting on my front porch. I could tell he was in a bit of an agitated state, because although he held his pipe clenched tightly between his teeth, it wasn’t lit. I wondered if I was going to be drafted into going on another gift buying spree. But apparently Fatty wasn’t as susceptible to a bothersome conscience as Folco was. His reason for waiting on my porch had to do with the fact that he had accidently let out his aunt's favourite cat, her best mouser as a matter of fact. This particular cat was also known to be a bit of a ...well...to put it bluntly...a trollop. She had already had three litters in the past six months and lately she had been yowling and rolling and generally displaying all the signs common to a kitty ready for some tom to show her a good time. The last thing Fatty's aunt wanted was another litter of kittens meowing under her feet.
"Fredegar Bolger!" She had threatened, "You had better find that cat and find her fast!"
Poor Fatty had looked high and low, but no sign of "Chippy". (Apparently an appropriate name for the animal.) So, he had come to ask if I had happened to see the cat hanging around. I answered sympathetically that, no I hadn’t, but as I didn’t have any reason for a cat to particularly want to hang around my door, it wasn’t likely if she had passed this way that she would stop here for long. But I did volunteer to help him look for Chippy.
The weather had turned off much colder than it had been when I was out earlier with Folco. As we walked about in the frigid air, I wondered that any creature would willingly be out prowling in this cold.
After two and a half cold, miserable hours of walking around Hobbiton and alternating between calls of "Here kitty, kitty!" and "Here, Chippy!" our voices were beginning to sound a little hoarse. We’d worked our way back around to Bagshot Row and the Gamgee’s place at Number 3, and still no sight or sound of the cat. That is, until we heard an unearthly howling and caterwauling coming from the back of the Gamgee’s Hole. It sounded not like one cat, but a whole party of felines.
Fatty and I made a dash in the direction of the commotion. Fatty nearly ran over Hamfast Gamgee. The racket had brought him outside, either from curiosity or to try and put a stop to the awful din.
"What in The Shire....? he began, but as soon as he saw what was going on he turned right around and headed back inside.
I had been right when I had guessed that there was more than one cat involved, there were three, Chippy and two suitors. I don’t think I need go into detail or describe what was going on. I will simply say that the fur was flying. It was hard to tell if any one of them was enjoying themselves, from the yowling, and hissing and spitting. I would wager, however, that Chippy was going to be too exhausted to do any mousing the rest of the day.
"Frodo, however am I going to get them apart?" My friend lamented.
I’m afraid I wasn’t much help to him there. I had no inclination to put myself in the middle of a cat carousal. But before I could finish shrugging my shoulders, The Gaffer reappeared carrying a bucket of water, which he threw over the cats with a great splash. They wasted little time in scattering. Fatty dashed after Chippy, who he caught pretty quickly, because she stopped to shake the water off, then sat herself down under a bare Hawthorn tree to "lick herself dry". (I still haven’t worked out the logic to that.) One of the toms disappeared over the fence, and the other, who happened to belong to the Gamgees, made himself scarce by vanishing into the woodshed.
The Gaffer was kind enough to invite us to tea , even offering to let Fatty bring Chippy in by the fire to dry off, but he politely declined, saying that since he’d been gone too long looking for her as it was, he’d better see that he got her home straightaway. Instead, the Gaffer loaned Fatty a towel to wrap the cat in until he could get her home. It was enough that he was returning the cat possibly "in the family way" as the Gaffer put it, but to have her catch cold would have made matters worse. I offered to accompany him, thinking maybe he’d be less likely to get "lectured to" in front of a friend. But again, he declined, mainly because he feared he would receive and didn’t want the embarrassment of me hearing him "catch it."
I let him go rather reluctantly. I didn’t like seeing my good natured friend looking so glum. However, he cheered up considerably when Marigold fixed him a basket filled with a generous quantity of currant scones along with some butter and sweet cream. I watched him depart, cat under one arm and basket on the other. There was nothing for me to do but accept the offer of tea, which I did. So, quite happily, I sat down with the Gamgees to enjoy some of those lovely scones and a steaming cup of tea before I headed back out into the frigid air.
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