Summer lengthened into autumn and when the bitter Yorkshire winter set in we marvelled at their hardiness. We used to feel terrible, looking at them from our warm kitchen as they sat out in the frost and snow, but no matter how harsh the weather, nothing would induce either of them to set foot inside the house. Warmth and comfort had no appeal to them. When the weather was fine we had a lot of fun just watching them. We could see right up into the log shed from our kitchen, and it was fascinating to observe their happy relationship.
They were such friends. Totally inseparable, they spent hours licking each other and rolling about together in gentle play and they never pushed each other out of the way when they were given their food. At nights we could see the two furry little forms curled close together in the straw. Then there was a time when we thought everything had changed forever. The cats did one of their disappearing acts and as day followed day we became more anxious.
Each morning Helen started her day with the cry of Olly, Ginny which always brought the two of them trotting down from their dwelling, but now they did not appear, and when a week passed and then two we had almost run out of hope. When we came back from our half day in Brawton, Helen ran to the kitchen and looked out. The cats knew our habits and they would always be sitting waiting for her but the empty wall stretched away and the log shed was deserted.
Do you think theyve gone for good, Jim? she said.
I shrugged. Its beginning to look like it. You remember what old Herbert said about that family of cats. Maybe theyre nomads at heart gone off to pastures new.
Helens face was doleful.
I cant believe it. They seemed so happy here. Oh, I hope nothing terrible has happened to them.
Sadly she began to put her shopping away and she was silent all evening. My attempts to cheer her up were half-hearted because I was wrapped in a blanket of misery myself. Strangely, it was the very next morning when I heard Helens usual cry, but this time it wasnt a happy one. She ran into the sitting room. Theyre back, Jim, she said breathlessly, but I think theyre dying!
What? What do you mean?
Oh, they look awful! Theyre desperately illIm sure theyre dying.
I hurried through to the kitchen with her and looked through the window. The cats were sitting there side by side on the wall a few feet away. A watery discharge ran from their eyes, which were almost closed, more fluid poured from their nostrils and saliva drooled from their mouths. Their bodies shook from a continuous sneezing and coughing. They were thin and scraggy, unrecognisable as the sleek creatures we knew so well, and their appearance was made more pitiful by their situation in the teeth of a piercing east wind which tore at their fur and made their attempts to open their eyes even
more painful. Helen opened the back door.
Olly, Ginny, whats happened to you? she cried softly.
A remarkable thing then happened. At the sound of her voice, the cats hopped carefully from the wall and walked unhesitatingly through the door into the kitchen. It was the first time they had been under our roof.
Look at that! Helen exclaimed. I cant believe it. They must be really ill. But what is it, Jim? Have they been poisoned?
I shook my head. No, theyve got cat flu.
You can tell?
Oh, yes, this is classical.
And will they die?
I rubbed my chin. I dont think so. I wanted to sound reassuring, but I wondered. Feline virus rhinotracheitis had a fairly low mortality rate, but bad cases can die and these cats were very bad indeed.
Anyway, close the door, Helen, and Ill see if theyll let me examine them.
But at the sight of the closing door, both cats bolted back outside.
Open up again, I cried and, after a moments hesitation, the cats walked back into the kitchen. I looked at them in astonishment. Would you believe it? They havent come in here for shelter, theyve come for help!
And there was no doubt about it. The two of them sat there, side by side, waiting for us to do something for them.
The question is, I said, will they allow their bete noire to get near them?
Wed better leave the back door open so they dont feel threatened.
I approached inch by inch until I could put a hand on them, but they did not move. With a feeling that I was dreaming, I lifted each of them, limp and unresisting, and examined them.
Helen stroked them while I ran out to my car which held my stock of drugs and brought in what Id need.
I took their temperatures; they were both over 104, which was typical. Then I injected them with oxytetracycline, the antibiotic which I had always found best for treating the secondary bacterial infection which followed the initial virus attack. I also injected vitamins, cleaned away the pus and mucus from the eyes and nostrils with cotton wool and applied an antibiotic ointment. And all the time I marvelled that I was lifting and handling these yielding little bodies which I hadnt even been able to touch before apart from when they had been under the anaesthetic for the neutering ops.