World without Cats (18 page)

“Thank you very much,” said Angelo in a hoarse voice.

Rita Kenyon, cradling a white Persian cat with a light-blue ribbon around its neck, began matter-of-factly. “Dr. Kraakmo, would you tell us how you came to the conclusion that the disease started at the zoo in Seattle?”

Angelo made an effort to overcome his anxiety. He described his detective work in some detail—more detail than was appropriate for a general television audience. Kenyon interrupted him. “Is there a possibility that no cats will survive?”

“That is not usually the case with epidemics,” replied Angelo. “Most epidemics, or epizootics, leave survivors. AIDS was an exception for a while, but with the development of the new chemotherapeutic cocktails, there are now many survivors.”

Speaking of the disease helped Angelo to calm down. “So far, however, FHF seems to be unique. We know of no cat that has remained alive once it has definitively been diagnosed with the disease. The prognosis is as poor as I have ever seen in any disease. None of the known antiviral drugs, such as acyclovir or ribavirin, has been effective against it. As you know, it has been less than three months since FHF was detected on the West Coast, and it has now swept all over the North American continent, invaded well into South America, and has been detected in several areas of Europe and Asia, in spite of strict embargos against the import of cats from the USA. So I’m afraid that it is very possible that there will be no survivors this time—no survivors unless we manage to develop a vaccine. The CDC is working on this, but we have not been successful so far.”

“Why, that is just horrible!” Kenyon proclaimed. “Does that mean that even Scheherazade here will come down with FHF?” She stroked the dozing cat affectionately.

“Yes. I am sorry. As a matter of fact, your cat could be incubating the disease right now.” A murmur passed through the studio audience. “I am curious. Why does your cat not show symptoms of the disease? Has she been isolated from other cats?”

Kenyon replied, “I … I keep her indoors most of the time. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her here tonight.”

“Just how does the disease get from cat to cat anyway?” asked the orange jumpsuit.

Angelo turned toward the young woman. “Well, uh … er …” Angelo was overwhelmed by her perfume and ivory smile.

The starlet attempted to set him at ease. “Do fleas carry the disease from cat to cat?”

“Yes,” answered Angelo, suddenly aware that she was not only beautiful, but intelligent. “We have found that fleas can carry the virus. They don’t even have to bite the cat. The virus just takes a ride on the fleas. There are many other ways the disease is transmitted. This virus is very stable. It resists drying, which would inactivate most viruses, and it can survive in the environment for weeks. Therefore, it is easily transmitted from one cat to another by objects and by humans. It can enter the cat through the mouth, the nose, or even through the smallest cuts in the skin of the cat.”

The woman’s eyes opened wide. “You mean if I handle a cat that has FHF, and then pet an uninfected cat, I can give the disease to the second cat?”

“Absolut!”

“That’s awful!” She faced the audience. “Isn’t this terrible?” There was a murmur of assent.

“Also, the virus may be transmitted to the female by the male during copulation, and vice versa.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it vice when cats do it,” quipped the starlet, drawing laughter from the studio audience.

Angelo, not getting the pun, stared at her blankly.

Rita Kenyon broke in, “So that’s why the epidemic is spreading so rapidly—the virus is exceptionally strong.”

“We refer to such viruses as
stable
or
robust.
Yes, that is one of the reasons for the quick spreading of FHF,” said Angelo. “By the way, we call it an epizootic, not an epidemic. Animals have epizootics; people have epidemics.” Angelo uttered this with such earnestness, that the audience laughed at his pedantry. Angelo, seeing that he was the object of their laughter, played the good sport and flashed a big smile.

“I would think that kittens could get the virus from their mother as well,” offered Kenyon.

Angelo nodded. “Yes, they can get it directly from the mother or even from her milk. We have found the virus in the milk of mother cats that have the disease. At the CDC, we have seen that newborn kittens from mothers with FHF always have the virus. So we cannot simply take the kittens away from the mother to keep them free of virus. It either infects the embryos, or else the kittens contract it during the birth process. We’re not sure. It could be both.

“We are presently experimenting to see if the placenta acts as a barrier to the virus. If it does, we might be able to develop a colony of virus-free cats if the kittens were removed from the mothers by cesarean section. If we succeed, we could buy time so that we could develop a vaccine before all the cats are gone.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do to help?” asked the starlet with anguish. “I have a cat at home.”

Tears formed in her eyes and, in the booth at the rear of the studio, the director ordered, “Camera three, close-up on Josette.”

Angelo continued, “We are currently following three strategies at the CDC. First are the experiments with cesarean section. Second, we are trying a treatment with a drug called Actinomycin D. This is known to have some success with ordinary feline leukemia. Unfortunately, it often kills the cats before it cures the disease. Finally, we’re trying to develop a vaccine. This is tedious work, and I must confess that we have not been successful yet. Anyway, the disease is spreading throughout the world so fast that, even if we are able to produce a decent vaccine, we might be too late.”

The interview went on a few more minutes, during which Kenyon asked the audience how many had pet cats and how many of those had come down with FHF. It turned out that of a hundred and twenty-seven people, forty-seven owned cats, and twenty-eight of those pets had come down with FHF. Twenty-two of the sick cats had already died.

Later, in his hotel room, Angelo reflected on his television debut.
I guess it went okay,
he thought.
Maybe I could have been less technical. Oh well …

A sizeable army of scientists and technicians labored at the Communicable Disease Center in Atlanta and the National Institutes of Health at Bethesda, Maryland, to develop an immunizing agent effective against FHF. They made no progress. Technicians could not grow the virus in cell cultures—a prerequisite to creating a vaccine. The CDC began a crash program to develop a cell-culture system for the FHF virus. The small quantity of virus available from cats that had died of FHF was purified and tested as an immunizing agent. It failed to elicit a protective immune response in cats. The investigators surmised that the failure was a due to the FHF virus possessing three classes of envelope proteins—one derived from FIV, one from FeLV, and a third from Ebola.

Darth Vader, Leland Meredith’s companion animal, died suddenly of FHF. The autistic boy fell into a deep depression and became totally uncommunicative. After trying their best to cope, Mr. and Mrs. Meredith admitted defeat and had Leland institutionalized.

15
 

On a Thursday morning near the end of June, Angelo arrived at Bronkowski’s office, ostensibly to discuss the progress of the FHF research at the CDC. He had a second motive—to wangle another trip to Camarillo.

“Good morning,” Angelo said.

“An arguable observation,” said Bronkowski without looking up. “Zero progress. That’s what we’ve made with the FHF antigen. Zero. Zilch. Zip. Did you see the paper this morning? Look!” He turned his laptop around so Angelo could see. “Twenty-two percent. It’s on the front page. They’re estimating that 22 percent of the domestic cats in the US have died of FHF, and 4 percent in Europe, 11 percent in Mexico, 5 percent in South America. I see, also, that the Russians have announced that they’re beginning an all-out program to develop an immunizing antigen. So now it’s us, the French, and the Russians.” He looked Angelo in the eye. “Angelo, I don’t know where we go from here. Our lab people have reached a dead end.”

“I know. That is why I am here,” Angelo replied. “I have an idea.”

Bronkowski looked up. “So?”

“I would like to get Chamberlin to work on the project.”

“Chamberlin? That molecular biologist in California?”

“Yes. I think he is one sharp fellow. He has a laboratory setup ideally suited for the work. His lab has state-of-the-art cell-culture facilities, and he is experienced with virus techniques.”

Bronkowski scowled at Angelo for several seconds. The frown changed to an expression of inquisitiveness. “Go on.”

“I suspect maybe Chamberlin could find a way to culture the FHF virus or perhaps clone its RNA. I would like to fly to Camarillo to discuss it with him.”

“You want to go back to Camarillo? Oh hell, Angelo, you just want to see your woman. When are you two getting married, anyway?”

“Soon. When Dorothy sells her house, she will move to Atlanta, and we will get married. And yes, of course I want to visit her, but I have a sound reason for going there.”

Bronkowski chewed on a pencil for a long moment. “Why Chamberlin? Why not some of the people at NIH?”

“Well, Chamberlin is not too busy now,” Angelo explained, “because, without cats, his research is not progressing. If we can get him to work on FHF, we would be increasing, even if slightly, the possibility of a breakthrough.”

Bronkowski nodded. “Okay, go to Camarillo. I must be crazy to let you talk me into these jaunts.”

“Scandaloose,” Angelo replied with humor.

As Angelo drove to Camarillo from the airport, he pondered how much he had missed Dorothy.
Amazing how much has changed in my life in only two months … and it’s all because of cats.

Dorothy was not in sight as he drove up, but, when he cut the motor, Angelo could hear the harpsichord. The front door was unlocked, and Angelo entered quietly. He stood listening for many minutes. Finally, in a soft voice, he said, “That is very nice; have you been playing long?”

Dorothy froze and, recognizing the voice, turned. “Angelo! You scared me half to death!”

“Scandaloose.”

“Oh, Angelo, I missed you so much.” They held each other closely and kissed. Unable or unwilling to postpone his physical need, Angelo placed his hand on her breast. “Angelo, not now. Not in the middle of the day.”

“Why not? Is there a rule I should know about?” He continued stroking her. Dorothy finally responded and kissed him passionately; Angelo’s call to Noah would have to wait.

On that same day, Noah and Vera took in a movie. During the drive back to Noah’s house—Vera was now practically living there—their conversation turned to the epizootic. “Did you hear that a panther at the San Diego Zoo has FHF?” Vera asked.

“No. Look, could we talk about something else for a change?” The movie had been a depressing and violent one, putting Noah in a sour mood.

“I’m sorry. I guess we do spend a lot of time talking about FHF.”

They drove in silence for a while. Noah finally said, “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just tired of FHF. FHF, FHF, FHF. That’s all anyone hears about these days. You’d think the world was coming to an end.”

She turned to face Noah. “For
Felis catus
, it just may be.”

Noah glared at her. His gaze softened as he thought about what she’d said. As he pulled into the garage, he asked, “Do you really think the domestic cat could become extinct?”

“Who can say? You know, don’t you, that yesterday the EPA placed
Felis catus
on the endangered species list?”

“I’ll be dammed.”

At Noah’s, they relaxed on the sofa. Vera nestled in his arms. Neither spoke for several minutes. Vera arched her head back so she could see Noah’s face. “At the risk of putting you off again,” she said, “do you mind if I bring up the subject of you-know-what?”

“What?”

“FHF,” she whispered.

“Oh, shit.”

“Sorry. Forget it.”

They sat in silence for a while—a silence Noah finally broke. “Well, what is it?”

Vera pulled herself away and picked up her drink. She sipped the scotch, eyeing Noah over the glass. “Have you … Have you given any more thought to the FHF virus antigens?”

Noah rose up from the couch. “No I have not. Why should I, Vera? I don’t want to alter the subject of my research in mid-course. It is not efficient to keep changing projects.”

“Is that what this is about, efficiency?”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sure you did, Noah. That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Publish those papers. Win that Nobel Prize. To hell with the cats! What does it matter if one more species becomes extinct? It’s ridiculous that you continue to study MEFA, a feline disease, while all the cats are dying off day by day.”