By: Dana
Summary: There's someone new at the Crickhollow house.
Characters: Merry, Pippin, and a kitten
Pairings: Merry/Pippin implied
Rating: G
Warnings: Kitten-fic; slash implied
Author's Notes: I started this earlier this year but only finished it last night. Thank sophinisba for that. ♥
Prompt: Insides (#4). Words: 953
27/100.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

Merry wakes, with something, soft but firm, batting at his cheek. 'Pippin,' he groans, with his eyes still shut – and there Pippin is, and the soft but steady sound of his laugh. And Merry supposes that he should open his eyes. Then that thing taps against Merry's chin, the faint prickle of something sharper, and Merry is more curious than he is injured. Pippin's weight depresses at the edge of their bed, Merry opens one eye and then the other: and then that something comes into focus: the soft fuzz yellow-gold fur, and leaf green eyes. A cat, a kitten still by the size of it, sitting right on Merry's chest, all its weight focused at its paws.

'He followed me home.' Pippin says, sounding cheery. Merry swivels his head slightly to the right, looking up at him. Pippin looks cheery, too, and he goes on. 'His name is Strawberry. I think he likes you already, Merry, so I do hope you'll not mind him staying around.'

'Strawberry,' Merry says, and blinks again. Pippin flashes his grin, strokes his fingers through the soft (it must be soft, Merry thinks, still half-asleep and incapable of much more than that: but it must be soft, as it looks it, pale and wispy like dream) fur atop Strawberry's little head. 'However did you name him that? A lad kitten, named Strawberry? I dread knowing what you'll name your sons, then.' Merry pauses, and then adds. 'However did he manage that, then? Following you all the way home? There's a good deal of road between Tuckborough and Crickhollow, you should know, and Strawberry here seems like a very small cat.'

'Oh, I know. Perhaps I helped him along, at least some of the time. But he is dear, and look at that, he does seem to like you. Yes, we ought to keep him around.' Pippin nods to himself, seemingly quite pleased.

Merry opens his mouth to answer, but that soft paw pats at his mouth and then the kitten tumbles down off his chest, twisting into a furry ball at his shoulder and then scrambling back up atop his chest, purring quite loudly as he does. For something so small, Merry still feels the breath knocked from his lungs, and he laughs, settling back, with Strawberry bouncing about above his covered torso. He can only just slightly feel the prickle of his claws.

Merry sits, carefully, scooping Strawberry up as he does. A soft mew, and the kitten twists about in his grip, but he grins and rights him, and strokes his hand back through his fur, from his head and down his back. He purrs louder than he had, so loud that Merry finds it almost too hard to believe: that something so small could be so very loud. But then again, Pippin's always been shorter than him, and Pippin's always been very loud...

And Merry says, 'So, he followed you home?', holding the kitten as carefully as he can, stroking his soft fur, and him butting his small face against his palm. He's small now, very small, and he seems the sort that just might stay very small, or at least small enough. Sleek and streak, and very cheerful. No wonder Pippin brought him home.

He looks at Pippin, then. And Pippin nods, with that same cheery grin.

And Merry laughs, then shakes his head. Strawberry butts his head against Merry's palm once more, and he whispers against a soft, fuzzy ear, grinning all the while. 'Well, he's charming and very sweet, but I probably won't think that once he gets used to us, and starts biting. We can keep him, then, just as long as you plan on taking good care of him.'

'Oh, I will, and he'll be quite helpful, I'm sure. He's got good sharp claws, and we'll not have to worry after mice, not with him about. Oh, and – '

'Wherever did you find him?'

Pippin is grinning. 'Farmer Grubb, on the far side of The Yale. And our Strawberry here, he has a very sweet disposition, and is perfectly charming. And very playful, as you see, as well as quite good at tiring himself out. Farmer Grubb insisted I bring him home. And I had to, though I was tempted – '

'Tempted?' Merry arches one eyebrow at him, stroking his hand through Strawberry's fur. The kitten has tired himself out, and curled himself up, tucked into the crook of Merry's arm. 'How so?'

'Well, Strawberry has many siblings back at his farm – I didn't think it would be fair, to bring him here, and all alone. Well, he isn't all alone, of course. But I don't know what to name our new lass.'

'Two of them?' Merry groans, then laughs. 'Well, I'd not want our Strawberry here to break all connexions with his family. Very well. Now, scoot.' He hands the kitten over, and Pippin takes him, grinning all the while. Then Pippin stands, whispering against one fuzzy ear.

'See, I told you so,' he says. Strawberry stretches, looking perfectly content, his claws all coming out as he does so – but then he settles back, relaxing. And he's purring loudly, still.

Merry rolls his eyes, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, and that's when he meets their little lass: coming out from beneath the bed, another golden-yellow bundle of fuzz, all claws and biting teeth, going for his feet.

Pippin lets Merry name that one, since Pippin was the one who named Strawberry: and he names her Blackberry, which doesn't fit the colour of her fur, though it does suit her disposition. But they call her Bramble, more often than not, because of her claws.