The Cat of the Dovre Mountains

Far, far away in the north, where the winter sun barely peeks over the edge of the world, there once lived a hunter. One day he caught a bear, big and white, as white as fresh snow. The bear turned out to be gentle. He followed his master step for step, like a faithful dog, and took fish from his hand so carefully that he never even brushed his fingers.

"I’ll take you to the king," said the hunter. "They’ve never seen anything so wonderful in his palace."

The bear grumbled. He probably agreed.

And off they set. They walked through forests, crossed frozen rivers and clambered up mountains. The snow crunched under the hunter’s boots: crunch, crunch. But the bear stepped softly, because his paws were soft and wide, like pillows.

At last, on Christmas Eve itself, they reached the Dovre Mountains. Night was falling. The wind howled and the blizzard flung snow in their eyes. Then the hunter saw a little cottage down in the valley, with a yellow light glowing in the window.

Knock, knock, knock!

The door was opened by the master of the house, a burly fellow with a red beard. His name was Halvor. He took one look at the bear and jumped back.

"Good evening," said the hunter. "Please, could my friend and I stay the night? He’s very gentle. He won’t hurt anyone."

"Oh, my good man," sighed Halvor. "I’d gladly let you in. But tonight nobody can stay in this house. Not even us."

"Why ever not?"

"Because every Christmas Eve the trolls come here. A whole gang of them! They clatter and bang, they eat everything, and they turn the whole place upside down. And we have to hide in the barn until morning."

The hunter scratched the bear between the ears.

"That’s not so terrible," he said. "Let us in anyway. My bear will lie behind the stove, and I’ll sit in the corner. No one will even notice us."

Halvor scratched the back of his head, looked out at the blizzard and gave a wave of his hand.

"Come in. I can’t send guests away on a night like this."

Inside the cottage it was warm and smelled of good cooking. Halvor’s wife was just laying the table: porridge with butter, fish, little pies and a ring of sausage.

"This is all for the trolls," she explained. "If they don’t find anything to eat, they’ll smash everything to bits."

The children, two boys and a girl, gathered round the bear and stared at him with big round eyes.

"Aren’t you afraid of the trolls?" the girl asked.

"We’ll see," said the hunter with a wink.

The bear crawled behind the stove, curled up in a ball and began to snore softly. In the dark he looked like nothing more than a big white heap of fur. Halvor and his family bundled up in their sheepskin coats and went off to the barn, and the hunter sat down on the bench in the corner and kept very still.

The cottage grew quiet. All you could hear was the wood crackling in the stove and the wind wailing in the chimney.

Then, at midnight, BANG! BANG! The door flew wide open!

In tumbled the trolls. Big ones and small ones, shaggy ones and bald ones, with noses like potatoes and tails like brooms. Some squeezed in through the door, others climbed through the window, and a few came down the chimney, all covered in soot.

They sat down at the table and dug right in: gobble, gobble, slurp, slurp! They scooped up the porridge with their bare hands. They swallowed the fish tails and all. One troll wiped his mouth on his own beard, another danced on the bench, and a third sang in a voice like a creaky old gate.

The smallest troll, who was also the naughtiest, grabbed a piece of sausage, stuck it on a fork and went snooping around the cottage. He peeked under the bench, he peeked into the barrel, and then he saw something lying behind the stove: something big, white and fluffy.

"Oh!" squeaked the little troll. "A kitty! What an enormous kitty!"

He crept closer and poked the sausage right at the bear’s nose.

"Here, kitty, kitty! Want some sausage?"

The bear twitched an ear. Still asleep.

"Here, kitty, kitty!" And poke, poke on the nose again. "Want some sausage?"

The bear snorted. Still asleep.

"Here, kitty, kitty! Come on, don’t you want some sausage?"

And he poked him a third time, so hard that the sausage stuck right onto that big black nose.

That was too much for the white giant. He rose up to his full height, so tall that the ceiling creaked, and he let out a mighty roar:

"R-R-R-ROAR!"

The trolls froze with their hands full of food. And then they ran for their lives! Some out the door, some out the window, some up the chimney. Big trolls shoved little ones, little ones squealed, somebody lost a hat and somebody lost a shoe. The bear stomped to the doorway and roared after them once more, just to be sure. A moment later, there wasn’t a single troll left in the house.

The hunter laughed so hard he had to hold his belly. Then he went outside and called:

"Halvor! Come back! Your guests have gone!"

The family opened the door very carefully. The bowls on the table were empty, somebody’s hat lay on the floor, and behind the stove, curled up in a ball, the bear was snoring softly again.

"Now that’s what I call a kitty!" laughed Halvor.

His wife cooked a fresh pot of porridge, and everyone together, people and bear, ate their supper in peace at their very own table. For the first time in years and years! In the morning the hunter thanked them for their kindness, and he and the bear went on their way to the king.

A year went by. Christmas Eve came round again. Halvor was out in the forest chopping wood for the stove, chop, chop, when all of a sudden a hoarse voice called from behind the fir trees:

"Halvor! Halvor!"

"What do you want?" Halvor called back, holding tight to his axe.

"Tell me something… Is that big white kitty still living with you?"

Halvor smiled into his red beard.

"She certainly is! She’s lying behind the stove right now. And what’s more, she has seven kittens. And every one of them is bigger and grumpier than she is!"

"Oh no, no, no!" came a shriek from the forest. "Then we’ll never, ever come to your house again!"

And they never did.