The blood results

Tuesday afternoon was not going particularly quickly.

For Alfie, this was unusual.

Alfie normally liked school.

He liked lessons.

He liked knowing what was happening next.

He liked having a timetable.

He even liked homework, which Barry considered to be evidence that something was probably wrong with him.

But today Alfie kept looking at the clock.

He was thinking about Snowball.

The vet had said the blood test results would be back on Tuesday.

Snowball had slept well.

She had eaten.

She was beginning to feel a little more comfortable after having the nasty wound on her side cleaned and stitched.

But there was still the question of the blood tests.

And nobody knew exactly what they might show.

Back at the Brand house, Mrs Brand’s phone rang.

It was the vet.

She answered immediately.

“Hello?”

There was a pause.

Mrs Brand listened.

Her face changed.

Not dramatically.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But enough that she sat down.

“I see.”

Another pause.

“Her biochemistry is fine?”

She listened again.

“Okay.”

Snowball was sitting on the windowsill beside her, watching a pigeon in the garden.

Mrs Brand looked at her.

The vet continued.

“There are some abnormalities in her haematology. Nothing that tells us exactly what’s going on, but it raised a concern.”

Mrs Brand swallowed.

“Right.”

The vet explained that there was one more test they could run in-house.

A test for FIV.

Feline immunodeficiency virus.

Mrs Brand knew enough to understand why the vet was asking.

“Please run it,” she said.

The test would take less than 30 minutes to run. The vets had taken a little extra vial of blood in case of issues or further tests being required, so no need to see Snowball today. 

Mrs Brand thanked the vet and ended the call.

Snowball jumped down from the windowsill.

She walked over and rubbed against Mrs Brand’s leg.

Mrs Brand crouched down.

“Oh, Snowball.”

Snowball purred.

“You really have picked a family, haven’t you?”

Snowball looked up at her.

Mrs Brand smiled sadly.

“Apparently we’re yours now.”

When school finished, the boys came charging through the front door.

Barry was first.

“SNOWBALL!”

Snowball, who had been peacefully asleep in her radiator hammock, opened one eye.

Barry dropped his school bag.

“Where is she?”

“She’s right there,” said Mrs Brand.

Barry ran over.

“HELLO!”

Snowball blinked.

Barry crouched beside her.

“Did you miss me?”

Snowball blinked again.

“I missed you too.”

Alfie arrived next.

He put his bag down carefully.

“How is she?”

Mrs Brand hesitated.

“Come and sit down, boys.”

That was enough to make Alfie suspicious.

Barry immediately stopped fussing Snowball.

“What’s happened?”

Mrs Brand looked at them.

“The vet rang.”

Alfie sat down.

Barry climbed onto the sofa.

Snowball wandered over and jumped up beside him.

“Her biochemistry was fine, that’s like a marker for her internal organ health,” Mrs Brand said. “That’s good news.”

Barry smiled.

“Good.”

“But there were some abnormalities in another part of her blood test.”

Alfie’s face became serious.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the vet wanted to investigate one more thing.”

Barry hugged Snowball.

“What thing?”

Mrs Brand took a breath.

“They tested her for something called FIV.”

“What’s FIV?” asked Barry.

“It stands for feline immunodeficiency virus.”

Barry frowned.

“Is that bad?”

Mrs Brand nodded gently.

“It can be serious. It’s sometimes compared with HIV in people because it affects the immune system. It isn’t the same virus, and it doesn’t infect people or dogs, but it can make a cat less able to fight certain illnesses over time.”

Alfie was listening carefully.

“Has Snowball got it?”

Mrs Brand nodded.

“Yes.”

There was silence.

Barry looked at Snowball.

Snowball looked at Barry.

Barry looked back at his mum.

“Is she going to die?”

Mrs Brand moved closer.

“The vet doesn’t think she’s dying now. She’s actually doing quite well. She doesn’t have obvious symptoms of FIV at the moment.”

Barry hugged Snowball a little tighter.

“But it can affect her long term?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“We don’t know.”

Barry’s face fell.

“Can they make her better?”

“There isn’t a cure that gets rid of the virus. But many cats with FIV can live for years, especially when they’re looked after carefully.”

Alfie thought about this.

“So we have to look after her really well.”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?”

Mrs Brand took a breath.

“This is the important bit.”

Everyone listened.

“Snowball needs to stay indoors from now on.”

Barry looked horrified.

“Forever?”

“That’s the plan.”

“But she likes looking out of the window.”

“She can still look out of the window.”

“But she can’t go outside?”

“No.”

Barry considered this.

“What if she just goes into the garden for five minutes?”

“No.”

“What about four?”

“No.”

“One?”

“Barry.”

“I’m only asking.”

Mrs Brand smiled despite herself.

“She needs to stay indoors because we don’t want her coming into contact with other cats and passing the virus to them.”

Alfie nodded.

“That makes sense.”

“And,” said Mrs Brand, “we need to make sure Bubble is safe.”

Marmaduke had been unusually quiet.

He was sitting on the armchair, listening.

At the mention of Bubble, his face changed.

“Bubble?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Brand. “Bubble doesn’t have FIV.”

Marmaduke immediately sat up.

“What do we do?”

“We need to be sensible about hygiene and contact between the cats.”

Marmaduke nodded seriously.

“I can do that.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“What will you do?”

“When I go home, I’ll wash my hands.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll change my clothes.”

“That’s a sensible precaution.”

“And I’ll make sure Bubble doesn’t use Snowball’s bowls or beds.”

“Excellent.”

“And I won’t let them fight.”

Alfie looked at him.

“Bubble is three doors away.”

“I know.”

“So you’re going to have to work quite hard to arrange a cat fight.”

Marmaduke thought about this.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“I’ll tell Bubble she’s not allowed.”

Alfie nodded.

“I’m sure she’ll listen.”

Marmaduke looked relieved.

Barry was now taking the whole thing extremely seriously.

He went to the kitchen and returned with a piece of paper.

“What are you doing?” asked Alfie.

“Rules.”

“Rules for what?”

“Snowball.”

He sat at the table and wrote, with considerable effort:

SNOWBALL RULES

Underneath, he began counting on his fingers.

“One. Snowball stays inside.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Two. We look after her.”

Alfie added, “Three. We don’t let her get outside by accident.”

“Four,” said Marmaduke, “wash hands.”

“Five,” said Barry, “no sharing food.”

“Six,” said Alfie, “we keep Snowball’s things separate from Bubble’s.”

“Seven,” said Marmaduke, “we tell grown-ups if anything is wrong.”

Barry looked impressed.

“That’s a very good rule.”

“Thank you.”

“Eight,” Barry continued.

Everyone waited.

“Snowball gets cuddles.”

Alfie smiled.

“That’s probably okay.”

“Lots of cuddles.”

“Probably.”

“Every day.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Definitely.”

Snowball jumped onto the table.

She walked straight across the paper.

Her paw landed directly on the words:

SNOWBALL STAYS INSIDE

Barry stared at her.

“She agrees.”

Alfie looked at the paw print.

“That’s not technically a signature.”

“It is to a cat.”

Snowball sat down.

Then she started washing her paw.

Barry pointed.

“Look! She’s cleaning herself.”

“Yes,” said Alfie.

“She knows about hygiene.”

“I don’t think that’s why she’s doing it.”

“She does.”

Snowball continued washing.

Nobody argued.

That evening, Marmaduke went home.

He stood at the Brand front door with his coat on.

“Right.”

He looked at Barry.

“I’ll wash my hands when I get home.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll change my clothes.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll make sure Bubble stays safe.”

“Good.”

“And I’ll still come round tomorrow.”

Barry smiled.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Marmaduke looked at Snowball.

“Bye, Snowball.”

Snowball blinked.

“Take care.”

She blinked again.

Barry whispered, “She understands.”

Marmaduke nodded.

“Definitely.”

He walked home.

The moment he got inside, Bubble came trotting towards him.

“Hello, Bubble.”

Bubble tried to rub against his legs.

Marmaduke looked down at her.

“You’re safe.”

Bubble purred.

Marmaduke went upstairs, washed his hands carefully and changed his clothes.

It was a little more effort than usual.

But he didn’t mind.

Snowball was his best friend’s new cat.

And Bubble was his cat.

He wanted both of them to be safe.

That night, the Brand family gathered in the sitting room.

Snowball was curled up in her basket.

Barry sat beside her.

Alfie was reading.

Mr Brand was checking his emails.

Mrs Brand was doing the same.

For once, nobody was panicking.

They were simply being careful.

Barry looked at Snowball.

“We’re going to look after you.”

Snowball opened her eyes.

“We promise.”

Alfie nodded.

“I promise.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“So do I.”

Mr Brand put his phone down.

“Me too.”

Barry looked at Snowball.

“And Marmaduke promised.”

Snowball purred.

Barry grinned.

“She likes that.”

“You know, she’s been here three days.”

“Two and a half,” said Alfie.

“And already she’s got more rules than the rest of us.”

Barry looked offended.

“She’s very important.”

Snowball stretched.

She looked around the room.

Her new family was gathered around her.

They were noisy.

They were curious.

They asked an astonishing number of questions.

They had bought approximately seventeen cat beds.

They had conducted something called a vigil.

They had created rules.

They had discussed handwashing.

They had worried.

They had fussed.

They had loved her.

Snowball had been a stray cat.

She had been hurt.

She had been frightened.

Now she had a warm home, food, comfortable beds, veterinary care and three boys who had apparently appointed themselves her personal protection team.

It was, Snowball decided, a lot.

Perhaps too much.

But it was good.

She curled herself into a ball.

Barry gently stroked her.

“Night, Snowball.”

She began to purr.

And although nobody in the Brand family could possibly know what Snowball was thinking, she seemed to have made up her mind.

She was staying.

She had found her family.

They were intense.

Very intense.

But they were her intense family.

And, frankly, after everything she’d been through, a warm radiator hammock and three small boys arguing over who was allowed to cuddle her seemed like a pretty good life.

Snowball closed her eyes.

Then Barry whispered:

“Do you think she wants another basket?”

Alfie groaned.

“Barry.”

“What?”

“She has four.”

“Five,” corrected Mrs Brand.

Barry’s eyes widened.

“See? She needs another.”

Snowball opened one eye.

For the first time since arriving at the Brand household, she looked genuinely concerned.

There were many things an FIV-positive cat had to cope with.

Apparently, Barry buying cat furniture was going to be one of them.