Custard stretched a bit, and then rolled over to show the fluffy white underside of her belly. Her paws kneaded at the air, and she gave her current skritch-giver a slit-eyed look of feline bliss.

“Don’t,” said Best Dwarf, without looking up from the fiddly shiny thing he was working on.

(Custard loved the fiddly shiny things. They made the best skittering noises as she batted them over the stone floors. But Best Dwarf was more important, and he would get upset if she lost pieces. And so Custard refrained.

Keeping Best Dwarf happy was the most important thing there was… apart from skritches and dinner.)

Current skritch-giver blinked, and then peered up at Best Dwarf. “Don’t? Don’t what, adad?”

“Don’t touch her belly,” advised Best Dwarf, and he flipped his eye-glass away from his one good eye and gave skritch-giver a warning look. “You’ll get clawed if you do.”

Skritch-giver looked back down at her, sprawled bonelessly over his lap. She rubbed her head upon his hand, which had gone lax and lazy and was neglecting the urgent business of petting her. “She’s showing it to me… doesn’t she want a belly-rub?”

Best Dwarf snorted. “No. She’s happy and relaxed about the patting you’re giving her, Thorin. Touch her belly, and those soft little paws that have been harmlessly pushing at the air? Will snap shut around your hand like a bear-trap. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Skritch-giver (who was the one with the excellent braids, nice and swingy and good to bat at) wrinkled his nose. “But she seems so peaceful.”

Best Dwarf rolled his eye. “Don’t be fooled. And don’t give in to the temptation to rub your face against all that fluff. For a start, face-scratches sting like a bastard. And secondly, you’ll be combing orange fur away from your beard for a whole afternoon.”

Skritch-giver grunted, and went back to rubbing beneath Custard’s chin. Much better. She let him know she approved by purring at double the volume. Her forelegs stretched high, her back arching ever so slightly, as she leaned into the new patting.

Then he –

“Ouch! Ah, ow, ah…”

“Told you so,” said Best Dwarf, grinning. “Custard, no sweetheart. Thorin, inudoy, you never did learn to listen to warnings. Come, go wash that hand.”

Custard leaped down from Skritcher’s knee, satisfied that he had learned his lesson. She twined around Best Dwarf’s legs for a moment, before tipping back her head and letting out her most innocent, ‘mrow?’

“You menace,” said Best Dwarf, smiling down and running an affectionate finger around her ear and beneath her chin. “Come on, beartrap. Time for dinner.”