Time passes for more than just the hobbits. This story references others in my 'Reunion - verse' stories. Sam's passing is described in 'A New Road.'

Foreyule, 1482 SR

Frodo Gamgee-Gardener leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe. Holfast, Ivy and Clem sat on the couch and the younger ones - Angelica, May and Andwise sat on their older siblings' laps, while baby Holman gurgled in his baby basket. In the chair on the other side of the hearth, Violet took out her mending and prepared to listen too. She enjoyed her husband's reading because he managed to produce so many different voices and made everything sound interesting. It still felt strange to both of them to be the senior couple in Bag End, with Mother Rose passing at Mid-year and Sam-dad slipping away on what had been dear Uncle Frodo's birthday. Frodo-lad had gone out to call his father in for supper and found him sitting on the bench, his pipe held loosely in his fingers. Although shocked and saddened, young Fro was relieved and thrilled to see three shining figures in the Party Field; his father would not be travelling alone because those he loved more dearly than any others had come to call him away. It seemed right and proper somehow.

       Now it would soon be Yule. He had wondered if it would be proper to decorate the smial but the Thain and Master reminded him that Sam, Rose and Frodo had all loved Yule and would not like to think of Bag End bare and dull at such a happy time, so he had brought in the green boughs, the mistletoe, the juniper and the Yule log, and the home looked magnificent.

       Frodo glanced down at the book in his hand as the children shifted impatiently on the couch. He had mentioned to them that although Gammer Rose and Uncle Frodo had come for Gaffer Sam, they were not the only ones. With his own eyes he had seen the small figures of the many cats who had once made Bag End their home, and he had told them a little of the ones he remembered. They enjoyed the stories but clamoured to know more about the first cats, starting with the one Uncle Frodo had brought with him from Brandy Hall. He thought of the book which his uncle had compiled, detailing the Bag End cats and some of their escapades, together with a picture of each cat. Frodo-lad opened the book and turned to the first page, written in Uncle Fro's beautiful script, and began:

       Mischief - born Afterlithe 1380 SR. Father: Pongo. Mother: Petunia.

      The kitten did not like being in his basket very much and made a lot of noise during the journey from Buckland. Bilbo laughed and said he has a fine pair of lungs. I think he missed his mother and brothers and sisters so I must comfort him. I missed my mother and father so I sympathised.

      We had only been at Bag End a few days when Gandalf arrived. He was so kind and the naughty kitten was not afraid. Indeed, having disappeared up the parlour chimney and come down in a great fall of soot, he climbed up the wizard's robe, making it greyer and more disreputable than ever, and had to have a bath. I suppose not many kittens have been bathed by a wizard. It was then that I decided on a name for my little one, and called him Mischief. It was very apt because he was always in trouble: he climbed the Party Tree and then could not get down and I had to climb up after him while Bilbo fussed and fretted on the ground; he caught a toad and was very sick from licking it and we had to send for the animal healer, and he went into the pantry and somehow covered himself with jam. I realise as I write this that I could be describing Pippin, but Mischief did improve and travelled back and forth between Hobbiton and Buckland for years in that very basket which he had so hated at first. He died in his sleep just after my birthday in 1397, being seventeen years of age, and was buried in the garden with a marker and some forget-me-nots on his grave.

       The children laughed at the reference to Uncle Pip as they had heard many stories of young Peregrin Took and his catalogue of adventures.

       "Uncle Frodo and Mister Bilbo had taken Tomkin in two years before Mischief died, when he was a little kitten. His mum was Widow Rumble's cat Sorrell, and Tomkin lived to a good age, like all the cats at Bag End," Frodo-lad explained. "He was the one who caught the squirrel that Uncle Fro had to nurse back to health. Tomkin was sixteen when he went. Then came Pickle, who also lived to be seventeen. He was a proper pickle, always jumping in the waste paper basket in the study and sitting on the writing paper. He went to stay at Brandy Hall when Uncle Fro and Gaffer Sam left the Shire, because Uncle Fro wanted him to be safe."

       "I suppose the Ruffians might have hurt him if he'd stayed here? Or that Lotho," muttered Holfast.

       "Or Sharkey. He wasn't like Gandalf or Radagast and probably didn't like animals," said young Ivy, tender-hearted as always.

       "No, I suppose he didn't. It was just as well that Pickle was safe at the Hall while all that was going on. He lived a long time too - I think all the cats enjoy life so much that they don't want to leave it."

       "Rufus lived the longest, didn't he, Da?" Geli's excited voice.

       "Yes, he did, lass. He was twenty-one, if you can imagine, and we children had grown with him, so we all cried when he left us. Curled up under the quilt on Uncle Fro's bed and never woke up. Dear old Sooty missed him terribly because they'd been firm friends for sixteen years. I don't think he ever really got over it because he died the next year. Rufus was very special - he saved us from a snake once. He understood everything we told him and was as intelligent as any person."

       "Then there was Custard, who loved food and spent a lot of his time eating. Uncle Pip says he was a Took!" Ivy giggled.

       "That's right. And don't forget we had Pudding and Treacle, the two tabbies. They were found in a sack at the stables and Gaffer Sam said he knew Uncle Fro would keep them. They were really naughty and used to like to sleep in the wash-basket. Poor old Custard was always afraid they would eat his food. He used to try and guard it."

       "And then there was Toffee," said Clem. "Hol remembers him the best but I was twelve when he passed and I remember him, 'cos it was only three years ago. He was cheeky and used to walk all over Uncle Fro's desk. He trod in the ink once and left inky prints all over. Gammer Rose scolded him and washed his feet in the sink!"

       Holfast chuckled. "Every time he saw a flannel after that he ran!"

       "And now we have Biscuit, and he's as clever and handsome as the others!" Holfast smiled as he looked as the big cat who was sprawled in front of the fire, warming his belly.

       "Yes, he is. And now some sleepy little hobbits should really be going to bed." Frodo-lad closed the book and smiled at his wife, who nodded and began to gather the children. The young ones kissed their father and siblings and then threw themselves on the hearthrug to kiss Biscuit as well. He purred aimiably and seemed to enjoy their attemtions. Then they filed out of the room, calling back as they went.

       "Night-night, Da! G'night Geli, May 'n' Andy. G'night, Biscuit!"

       "Good-night, my loves."

       Holfast, Ivy and Clem went to the kitchen to prepare sandwiches and hot milk with cinnamon, and Frodo-lad patted his knee in invitation to Biscuit, who sprang up and made himself comfortable on his Master's lap.

       "This will be a strange Yule and no mistake, my lad. Mum and Da gone and now I have to be the grown-up responsible one. What do you think of that?" The cat looked at him with unfathomable green eyes. "Now I can never ask their advice about anything ever again -although Uncle Pip and Uncle Merry have said I can always turn to them, and Uncle Strider is the finest guide and counsellor anyone could have. I suppose we'll muddle along, as the Gaffer used to say. Poor Uncle Strider must have felt strange when he was made King at first, and he's turned out to be pretty good at it. It's alright for you though - you just have to be a cat. And I reckon you're making a decent job of it."

        Biscuit kneaded his claws and purred. He clearly thought so too.