He looked up, as Pippin came in. 'It was my favourite shirt,' he said, with a sigh (to Pippin's ears, he sounded rather petulant). Pippin peaked round, telling Merry he hadn't ever thought him a slave to fashion.

But then he stopped, and smiled, and went down on his knees. 'No wonder Strawberry's been absent – and no wonder that black tom from Farmer Chubb's had been round so often,' he said, looking down. 'And Bramble in such a mood. I told you, Merry, it looked as thought she had put on some weight.'

Merry laughed. 'I just thought you were feeding her more than you should have been. But I guess we were both wrong.'

'No,' Pippin countered, looking down, smiling at Bramble, who opened her eyes, looking mussed, but weary, and very pleased. 'No, you were wrong. I was right. Hello there, Bramble. How are you feeling, love?'

She shut her eyes once more, and the kittens – all five of them – crowded up closer, all wanting to feed. There were three gold, like Bramble, one black and white and grey, and the last was grey all over. They were all very small, and mewled small, shrilly mewls, when they pulled their hungry mouths away from their mother's teats. But then they set to eating, once more, and Pippin smiled broadly. Merry hadn't countered, had taken his defeat in stride.

'Really, though,' Merry said. 'It was my favourite shirt.'

Pippin chuckled. 'It only means she likes you.'

'That she likes to destroy my things.'

'That she is comfortable with you.'

'Again, comfortable with destroying my things.'

Pippin chuckled once more, and kissed Merry's cheek. 'You're taking it too hard. I'll get you a new shirt. I think our Bramble has made this one her own.'

'Yes, I think she has,' but there was a smile in Merry's voice, and on his lips, too.