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The following excerpts are from the diary of Ottor Wǽfre, whom the Elves called Eriol, compiled by his son Heorrenda, lord of Gréata Hægwudu, called by the Elves Tavrobel .
I.
Tinúviel’s tale has left me in a state of unrest. Though the people of Kortirion have shown me naught but kindness, and graciously indulged my curiosity with a smile on their lips, on this matter I find myself unwilling to give voice to my thoughts.
For, you see, I cannot put the fate of Tevildo and his cats from my mind. Lonely and bitter and full of loss: thus young Vëanne spoke of them. A heartbreaking phrase for a pitiable fate! Yet the Eldar, so kindly in all else, are as a people hostile towards the race of cats. Even as I write that name — Tevildo — I look about warily, lest I be caught and cast out of this wondrous country, from which I have no desire to depart ere I have learned all that can be learned. The Eldar speak his name like a curse.
Now, it would not be true to say we of the Great Lands love all cats, and I have known many men who regard them as lowly and unfriendly animals, but I have always held a special fondness for the creatures — for they will, given time, offer their companionship and ask for nothing in return but the run of your home for their hunting grounds. There was on a time a cat followed me home, when I was out walking the western shores of Heligoland. It was not long after the death of my wife, a time of great emptiness in my life. As I walked, the cat cried sweetly each time I turned from her. I daresay she was, for the too few years of life she shared with me, my most constant companion and comfort. For each night she would burrow her little head beneath my coverlet and curl asleep in the crook of my knees, purring gently and warming me through the winters.
Have I been deceived? Is there an evil in my heart that drew this creature to me? I am loath to question the hearts of the Eldar, and their wisdom, and yet I cannot think on my dear friend (I called her Wynn, for she was my greatest joy in those days of sorrow) and believe there was only darkness therein and no kindliness.
II.
I have made a most unexpected discovery.
Seeing the buds growing fat on the limbs of the tree outside my window, and the bluebells pushing through the last islands of snow in Rúmil’s garden, I took it upon myself to make a journey about the Lonely Isle. Thus far my travels have all been undertaken with a particular purpose — to seek Meril-i-Turinqi and beg a drink of limpë of her (which I have yet to be granted!), to visit Gilfanon on Tavrobel, and other such matters. I was so engaged in wandering the paths of my mind that I neglected to explore the land about me.
I shall at some future time put to paper all that I saw on my travels, for there was much that was wondrous and lovely (and much that was ordinary but no less beautiful for it), but what I must at once recount is my discovery of the Isle of Cats.
Yes! Tol Eressëa, when the tide runs down to the sea, is home to many hundreds of cats! Yet when the tides climb high up the beach, it severs their domain from the rest of the island, leaving them on an isle unto themselves.
For the unwatchful, it would be quite possible to pass by this isle altogether. The cats are exceedingly secretive. It was the soft mew of a kitten, lost among the barnacle-clad rocks, that betrayed them to me. My heart at first clamped with worry, thinking the creature abandoned and left to die. But in no short time, seeing my approach, another cat — his mother, I would have guessed, before learning more of how the colony shares the duties of rearing their young — bounded from the brush and snatched him in her maw. Then she leapt nimbly across the rocks and sand, disappearing in the dark trees that grew thickly on the isle.
The tide was then flowing inland, and moreover I saw how I was a source of fear to the cats, and so I did not follow but made my camp that night upon the shore, hoping to catch sight of them again. For, as I have already written, the Eldar harbour a dislike and fear of the race of cats, and it astonished me to find them dwelling on their unstained island — at least for a portion of each day.
I kept watch from afar — for as the cats were wary of me so I, too, was wary of them. The tales of Tevildo, and the way the Eldar spoke of his folk, had put a dread in my heart that had not been there before. Perhaps the cats of this land bore a greater strain of Melko’s malice than those I had known in Heligoland.
After some days of watching them, and of them watching me in their daily travels to the shore to hunt for food, I deemed the time right to risk crossing onto their isle. The tide on that day reached its lowest point just before sundown, and it was into a gloaming wood I strayed. At first, I saw nothing of note: the woods on the isle were no different than those hugging the shoreline. But when my eyes strayed up towards the canopy, what a wonder was there! Great networks of bridges and ropes ran between the branches, crafted of scraps of cordage and driftwood. Rough architecture to be sure, but not the craft of any cat! Someone had been here before me; someone who took a liking to the cats and was inclined to offer their services to make their wild existence more comfortable.
As I looked overhead, a mottled red and grey cat bounded across a bridge, followed close behind by a pair of grey kittens giving chase. The scene brought a smile to my face. How could one look upon such playful creatures and see no light within? The evidence that I was not the only speaking person to have felt a fondness for these cats gave me courage. I crouched down to the ground, clicking my tongue and scattering some morsels of dried fish upon the ground.
A curious feline head emerged from a cluster of leaves, one paw set gingerly forwards. It bobbed its head and flicked its ears, round black eyes fixed on me. Remembering my Wynn, I broke our gaze to show my friendliness. From the corner of my eyes, I saw it creeping forward, slowly and silently, until with a flash of movement it snatched a piece of fish and darted back into the bush.
Other cats were emboldened by the first’s courage, until night descended and my supply of fish was all given out. I had been so entranced by this encounter with the cats that the tide had in the meantime closed off the island. A chill unease ran through me, realising I had no choice but to spend the night here: what if I was wrong about them, and in danger? Well: this would be the test. If no harm came to me, alone at night and far outnumbered by the supposed creatures of Melko, then I would have proof that the Eldar’s beliefs about them were naught but superstition steeped in ancient tales.
And indeed, no harm came to me. The worst that came to pass was waking to a sleek orange cat sniffing at my hair, who startled and ran as soon as I stirred.
Having made this remarkable discovery, I was not ready to move onwards. Besides my fascination and growing fondness of the cats, I was eager to meet the person who had created this realm in the canopy for them. I remained, leaving the island only to search for food, even as my feline companions did, for nearly a fortnight. The cats began to trust me, some of them (I found the black ones most friendly in this regard) even coming to spend the nights curled up in the fold of my knees, the crook of my arm; even, in one case, sitting upon my face.
Yet I saw no sign of any other person. Once only did I hear something that caught my interest: a birdsong, faint and high in the trees. Birds were not unusual: like any wooded area, there were many birds who frequented the trees; there were, I confess, fewer here than in other regions of Tol Eressëa, for the cats hunted them. This birdsong, however, was both strange and familiar. I thought little of it, until I returned here to Tavrobel and remembered, for I heard it again: it was the blackbird whose song had so agitated Rúmil at our first meeting!
Thus is my plight. My curiosity will simmer unsated until I am able to solve the mystery of the cats and the blackbird, for I am certain there must be a connection between them, and yet I know not to whom I may speak of it. Each time I gather the courage to ask Rúmil, or Vairë, or Lindo, or even one of the children whose knowledge and experience far exceeds their appearance in years, I hear one of them curse Tevildo, or the fell of Oikeroi, or the bent spoon of Miaulë, and my courage wilts. I cannot risk losing the favour of the Eldar, a guest in their land. I am not at all willing to be sent back whence I came — especially as I have grown fond of the cats upon the isle, and my heart longs to return to visit them.
III.
I have found an ear sympathetic to my difficulties. At least, I believe it sympathetic, for my confessor does not return my speech with words. For he is the flute of Tinfang Warble beneath my window. Rúmil assured me I was unlikely to ever set eyes on the sprite, for few were those even of the Valar who had, and his nightly fluting had withdrawn from my awareness as but one of the many sounds that accompany the night. Yet there I was, speaking aloud to myself one evening, unaware that I mused upon the cats and how I might best arrange to return to their isle, when a trill of notes seemed to answer my thought.
“Who is there?” I asked, at once alert to the fact I was not, as I had believed a moment before, alone. The flute was silent a long moment, and then responded with a single, inquisitive note. So began my strange dialogue with Tinfang Warble, a back and forth of words and music, and the music was friendly, and I spilled out all that had been troubling me about the cats: their origins, their safety on an isle of people hostile to their kind, the mystery of their absent caretaker. I received no answers, of course, but I rested more easily knowing that someone heard my concerns, my compassion for the cats, and did not at once reject me as tainted by Melko.
IV.
Tinfang is the blackbird! I am certain of it. Of course, how could I not have thought of it before? The Eldar say he has a mischievous nature, and is wont to mock those who seek for him. And what more devious way to mock poor Rúmil, master of all languages, than to trouble his morning with a birdsong he does not know.
Thoughts on the matter crowd my mind, but I have little time to say more, for I am preparing to depart for the Isle of Cats at once, where I hope to find answers.
V.
I have lost confidence in my surety about Tinfang and the blackbird. On my journey to the isle, I was escorted by that very bird, flitting here and there, disappearing at long whiles, only to reappear with a new song. This seemed proof, certainly! But you will soon learn how events unfolded in such a way as to leave me with still more questions.
We came to the isle, the blackbird and I, on a warm summer evening with the sun’s afterglow yet crimson on the horizon. There I hoped the mystery of the isle and its caretaker would at last be solved. But the bird was gone the moment I crossed the threshold of the woods. I neither saw nor heard him for days. I despaired that I had lost an ally in my concern for the cats and was again alone with my thoughts. Had I mistook the blackbird’s intentions in leading me here? Did he mean to betray my heretical sympathies to the Eldar? Perhaps this isle was a dark secret, known to few and hidden from all others, and he was even now plotting to dispatch me from Tol Eressëa as swiftly as possible ere my knowledge should spread.
It was not so. For, one early morning, I was roused by a crowing and then a tittering in the tree branch above me. I, and the several cats lying about me, stirred and looked up. The cats were at once alert, ears piqued at attention — but many stayed reclined upon the ground, relaxed but for their tails curling and flicking with interest.
“Friend!” I cried. A bold call to be sure, but I was so filled with relief at his reappearance that I forgot caution. I scrambled to my feet, searching that I might lay eyes upon the bird. Nothing. But a moment later, as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, I scried a slender black cat. This one was new to me: longer of body and clad in fur sleeker than the others. He leapt deftly to the ground, and I saw his eyes, too, were of a different sort: gleaming as with an inner light. He prowled towards me, liquid shoulders sliding left and right. I was not afraid, for his tail stood upright, a curl at the top, and I had learned this was a sign of contentment. He dragged the length of his body past my calf, purring.
“Who are you?” I said in a gentle voice, crouching to his height. He nuzzled the back of my offered hand, and I stroked his smooth head.
I hesitate to tell what happened next, for I fear someone coming upon this record will think me mad and that all the histories I shall compose henceforth (and I plan to compose many) will be rejected as false. But on the memory of my father, I swear the cat spoke to me with words.
“I am an exile,” he said, “like all cats. Confined to dwell in secret among those who despise us.”
Astounded, I could make no reply.
“Did you think, O Wanderer, that only the Eldar were forced to flee the Great Lands?”
Seeing this creature was of a special kind, one who could shift his shape and speak with words, I asked: “But you — are you a cat, or some other being? Was it you built these bridges between the trees? Are you,” I ventured, testing my theory, “that sprite the Elves call Timpanen and men call Tingfang Warble?”
Mirth flickered upon the cat’s human-like features. “If I were Timpanen, do you think I would reveal myself to you as a protector of cats, whom the Eldar shun? If I were any other being dwelling among them, do you think I would speak truly of who I am? Nay, Wanderer, though you have shown yourself a friend to cats, and for that reason have I allowed you to stay among them, I will not so easily reveal all secrets to you. In time, perhaps. Now I have a task for you, by which you may prove yourself worthy of further knowledge: for I have an errand I must run, and will be absent a long while. Will you, Wanderer, protect this Isle of Cats, and ensure knowledge of its whereabouts is learned by none, for as long as I am gone?”
“I will,” I said; for had I not already made that my purpose?
“Good,” said the sprite. And then he was gone — but in the moment between being there and not there, I heard the roll of a contented purr, like gentle thunder in far lands.
This was the last recorded mention of the cats by my father, though much was lost in the tumult of the Faring Forth and the Battle of the Heath. The identity of the sprite encountered in the last entry remains uncertain, and I do not know if my father ever encountered the cats again. Of a certainty, cats proliferate these lands and roam largely unbothered by men. So it seems they were in one way or another allowed to continue on. What role my father played in their preservation, if any, I do not know.
I have for many years sought for the Isle of Cats myself but alas, I fear this wonder was lost along with much else that was magic and strange in this land ere the fading of the Elves.
- Heorrenda of Gréata Hægwudu