Rob Lichtman, violinist with the Santa Rosa Chamber Ensemble, was now in his seventh year of AIDS. The newest antiviral cocktail had proved to be a miracle drug for patients infected with HIV. While his partner, Zane, folded laundry in the dining room of their home in the Northern California town, Rob practiced his bowing for an upcoming performance of Beethoven’s third string quartet. All at once he gave out a guttural sound, fell to the floor, and began writhing uncontrollably.
“Robby! Robby!” cried Zane. He knelt and cupped Rob’s head in his hands. He grabbed a towel from the table and forced it between Rob’s teeth; he then dialed 911. When the EMTs arrived, they checked for vitals and transported Rob and Zane to the hospital. Later, the attending physician told the frightened Zane that he’d been encountering more and more cases of relatively rare bird-transmitted diseases such as psittacosis and cryptococcosis.
“Has Mr. Lichtman been diagnosed with AIDS, or is he under radiation treatment for cancer?” asked the doctor.
“Why, yes,” replied Zane. “Robby has AIDS. But it’s under control with vironixal.”
The doctor nodded. “I’m pretty certain Rob has a case of cryptococcosis. We’ll know for sure after the lab work. It’s a fungal disease that we find mostly in patients whose immune systems have been compromised. The fungus, actually a yeast, attacks the brain.”
“Oh my gosh!” Zane cried.
The physician put his hands on Zane’s shoulders. “With treatment, Rob will probably come out of this just fine.” He explained, “This isn’t an isolated case. The fungus is found in bird droppings, and, as you know, this is a big problem everywhere. We’re seeing epidemics of avian-transmitted diseases in major cities like Milwaukee, Providence, Portland, Knoxville and many others.”
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June 2021
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Jane arrived, just as a nurse was taking Lilith from Vera after a feeding. “Wait,” said Jane. “May I see the baby?”
“Why, of course,” answered the nurse, uncovering Lilith’s face.
“She’s got Dr. Chamberlin’s dark hair,” Jane noted good-naturedly, “but your face, Vera.”
“Yes, she’s got the Barnett high cheekbones. With the black hair, she looks Asian, doesn’t she?”
“Uh huh, I see that. Are you sure Noah’s the father?” Jane teased.
“Keep that up, and you’ll be out of a job,” Vera responded with humor.
“Where’s Dr. Chamberlin?”
“He went out for a bite in the hospital cafeteria.”
Jane pulled up a chair by the bed. “Do you remember Anneke Weiss, the computer science major? She was involved with those demonstrations against Dr. Chamberlin’s research a couple of years ago.”
“Of course I do,” Vera answered. “How could I forget her? Why?”
“I had lunch with her today and told her of your idea to locate feral cats. It turns out that Anneke is a member of a feral-cat rescue group. She’s going to try to get such groups to help with locating cats.”
“That’s wonderful, Jane, just wonderful! Thank you so much. And please thank Anneke for me. I was aware of the feral-cat organizations and was planning to contact some of them after Lilith was born. Of course, we’ll be looking for cats that haven’t had human contact or association with domestic cats.”
“Yes, I discussed that with Anneke. She understands and will emphasize the fact when she contacts the members. When you’re up to it, Anneke wants to talk with you about how to proceed further.”
For her part, Anneke sent e-mails to feral-cat activists on her mailing list, one hundred twenty-three in all. She explained the new strategy and wrote that the scientists sought feral cats that had never had contact FHF virus. Anneke suggested looking for cat colonies in out-of-the-way places, away from human habitations. She made it clear that no one was to approach the cats, let alone try to capture them. It was essential that the animals not have any exposure to FHF.
The next day, replies were arriving in Anneke’s inbox by the hundreds. She read each one and prepared a table that listed locations, number of cats in the colony, and any remarks offered by the sender.
Her mail described feral-cat colonies all over the planet. Some flourished on farmland in the central United States and Canada, some on islands in the Great Lakes. There were ferals throughout Australia and on many of its islands. Others nested in the foothills of the Alps, on uninhabited islands in the Pacific, on Catalina Island off the Southern California coast, and on the fringes of the Gobi Desert. Many of the communications mentioned feral-cat populations that clearly had had human or other feline contact, such as the wild cats inhabiting the London Dockyards in the UK. However, most of those populations had already succumbed to FHF. Anneke did not include the survivors in her catalog, because the cats were likely already infected with the virus. Not all of the e-mail was supportive. A man in Toronto knew of several feral-cat colonies in rural areas of Ontario but had no intention of telling the world where they were. He didn’t want to have them exposed to FHF.
“I’d like to hire a nanny,” Vera declared. “I’ve got to get started locating cats for our test. I need someone to take on as much of Lilith’s care as possible.”
“I’ll be here,” said Noah. “Not to worry.”
“No, I want to hire a nanny, Noah. We can afford it.”
Doris, a nanny-cum-housekeeper, arrived a few days later. Finally, I can relax, Vera thought. Jane’s looking after the clinic business. Kal can handle any emergencies … “I’m going to take a nap,” she said to Doris.
“You go right ahead, ma’am; Lilith will be fine.”
Vera was awakened by the ring of her phone; it was Jane informing the vet that Anneke wanted to discuss her search for feral cat populations. “Sure, tell her to come over,” Vera replied. “I want to keep the momentum. Every day, more cats are dying.”
Anneke arrived late that afternoon and showed Vera the list she had compiled, now displaying 237 annotated entries. “That’s just wonderful!” cried the vet.
Lilith was so startled by the outburst that she separated herself from her source of nourishment and began to cry loudly. “Oops,” Vera said. “I guess I need to keep my emotions under control.” She quickly quieted the infant, and Lilith resumed nursing. The two women went over the list and highlighted the most promising colonies. Vera shook her head with concern. “Now we have to find a way to capture cats without contaminating them, and we need to set up a lab where we can house cats and perform the surgery. I don’t see how we’re going to accomplish all that.” She put her head in her hands. “And the money. My God! This is going to cost a fortune.”
“You know, don’t you,” offered Anneke, “there are thousands of people who would contribute money to bring the cats back.” Vera raised her head and stared open-mouthed at the young woman. “That’s right,” continued Anneke, “there are already several charities collecting donations for cats. Perhaps you could start one too.”
Vera rose, set Lilith down and hugged Anneke. “You are so helpful, I …”
Money … it’s always about money. She phoned her accountant who, when he learned of the new baby, agreed to come out to the house that evening.
Lyle Kane, rosy-cheeked and plump, toted a laptop in one hand and an attaché case in the other. Vera welcomed him in.
“I’ve got Form 1023 right here,” said Kane. “I’ll enter the information while we talk. By the time I leave, it’ll be ready to print out. Let’s start with the name of the charity. What do you want to call it?”
Vera pondered a moment. “How about ‘Feline Phoenix’?”
Kane nodded. “Sounds good. It’s easy on the ear. But the phoenix is a bird, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s a symbol of resurrection. It’s appropriate.”
“So be it. Feline Phoenix it is.”<
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“You’ll need a board of directors. Have you given that any thought?”
Vera shook her head. “Oh, heavens! I really don’t want to be bothered with that stuff.”
“Look, Vera, that’s part of the process of establishing a nonprofit. Can’t you get some of your friends involved? Then you can get them to prepare bylaws and choose officers. Think about it. If there weren’t standards, anyone could declare themselves a tax-free corporation. Fraud would be rampant.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.”
“Will Feline Phoenix pass funds or services to any other organizations?”
Vera shrugged. “What kind of organizations?”
“Other charities, vet schools … think a moment.”
“Oh. I could do that?”
“Sure,” Kane replied, “as long as such organizations advance your stated purpose.”
“Even an entity of the federal government?”
Kane frowned. “For example …”
“Don’t laugh,” Vera replied, “but I was thinking the CDC, should they get involved.”
It took Kane only an hour to gather the information. “I’ll have my secretary prepare the necessary papers. You should be good to go by Thursday.”
When Angelo returned to Atlanta from his latest investigative trek, Dorothy told him of the new baby. She popped open her phone. “Marveloose!” he exclaimed when she displayed the photos. “Are mother and daughter both well?”
“Yes, they’re doing fine.” She told him of the plan to save the domestic cat and mentioned her donation to the effort.
“That’s convincing,” said Angelo. “Do you know what they have in mind?”
“Not really. Vera said that it wasn’t a vaccine, and that it had to do with injecting something into eggs.”
Angelo frowned. “Perhaps they are growing a virus in chicken eggs.”
“No, I think she was talking about cat eggs.”
Angelo laughed. “Cats don’t lay … oh.” He raised his eyebrows. “I think I’ll give Dr. Chamberlin a phone call.”
Ten minutes later, after Angelo and Noah had exchanged amenities, Angelo said, “I hear that you have a new theory for treating the FHF virus. Is that right?”
“Wow! Word travels fast. Oh, you heard about it from Mrs. Kraakmo. I understand that she’s going to contribute money for the experiment.”
“Absolut. So you are calling it an experiment. That is the proper way for a scientist to approach the question. Would you mind telling me the plan?”
“Of course,” replied Noah. He proceeded to describe in some detail the idea to use FeLV as a vector for carrying interfering FHF RNA genes.
“That is quite a clever plan, especially the idea to inject the vector into fertilized eggs.”
“That’s Vera’s suggestion,” Noah stated with pride. “In fact, she has some experience with injecting into fertilized eggs, and we plan to have her carry out that step.”
“That’s convincing … There is the matter of finding uncontaminated cats to experiment with, however.”
“Yes, that is a hurdle. Vera is thinking of looking for feral cats in out-of-the-way places.”
“Feral? That means wild, yes?”
“That’s right. Feral cats are cats that once belonged to someone and have either run away or been abandoned, or which have been born in the wild and never been domesticated.”
Angelo was silent a moment. “But how will you capture these feral cats if you find them? Unless precautions are taken, they will immediately become exposed to FHF carried by the capturers.”
“Right. I don’t think our planning has gotten that far. We do have a place here in the BSL-3 lab where we can house them and keep them free from contamination.”
“Hmmm. Uh, Noah, I’d like you to take your time on that part of the planning. I will have a talk with Dr. Bronkowski. Maybe I can get him to help with trained personnel.”
“Sure. That’s great! I’ll tell Vera you called.”
“Good. Please relay my congratulations to Dr. Barnett.”
“ Angelo! Her name is Vera!”
“Aha. Of course. Tell her I send my best wishes. I will talk to you again soon.”
Although Bronkowski had enormous respect for Angelo’s investigative acumen, he was ever wary of the star epidemiologist’s manipulative ways, and was apprehensive when Angelo asked to speak with him.
“I have a request,” Angelo said as he breezed into the chief’s office. He was never one to waste time with small talk.
“I’m sure you do,” responded Bronkowski.
“You don’t have to be so hostile.”
“Well, what is it, Angelo?”
“It’s about the cats …”
Bronkowski interrupted, “Come on, Angelo. You know we exhausted all the funds for such projects. If the cats are to be saved, funding will have to come from the private sector.”
“I didn’t come here to ask for money … well, not really. Do you remember Noah Chamberlin, the molecular biologist?”
“Yes, of course,” Bronkowski replied warily. “What about him?”
“He has a new idea for protecting cats against FHF virus. He and his wife, the veterinarian, have what I think is a sound approach.” Angelo described the plan.
“That does sound like a plausible attack,” admitted Bronkowski, “but, as I said, we have no money.”
“No, we don’t,” said Angelo, “but we do have personnel.” Before Bronkowski could interrupt, Angelo drove on. “Chamberlin’s plan requires cats that haven’t had contact with the virus. Dr. Barnett believes such cats might be found among feral populations. The problem is that the very act of capturing the cats is apt to infect them. That’s where the CDC could help. We have trained field workers who could wear sterilized jumpsuits to keep from exposing the cats to the virus. They could spray the cats with disinfectant and transport them in disinfected cages to the labs where the procedures are to be performed.”
Bronkowski frowned. “It’s not like supplying personnel and equipment wouldn’t cost anything, you know.”
“True, but it would not require any new money. It could be funded by the present budget.”
Bronkowski put his head in his hands and remained that way, mumbling to himself for over a minute. Angelo remained silent. Finally, Bronkowski raised his head and said, hoarsely, “Okay, I’ll arrange it. Perhaps, if the plan actually works, we’ll get some good PR out of the effort.”
Angelo fired off a flurry of e-mails. First, he sent a message to Noah informing him that the CDC would be assisting with locating and capturing FHF-free feral cats. Next, he contacted his friend André Fidèle, the team leader for France’s effort to preserve Felis catus at Paris’s Pasteur Institute. He apprised the Frenchman of the plan and urged Fidèle to have the institute prepare a clean facility where feral cats could be isolated from the virus.
Fidèle replied within the hour, noting that he and his colleagues were excited by the news and that they were already preparing their BSL-3 labs to house and operate on any FHF-free cats they could find. He requested details of the surgical procedure to be carried out on the cats.
After returning home, Anneke assembled a set of instructions she downloaded from several websites for capturing feral cats. This is a waste of time; nobody’s going to read it. She described so-called “live traps” available from several vendors. These were small, metal cages that allowed the cats to be captured without harming them. She advised setting them at night when cats were likely to feed. Newspaper was to be placed on the bottom of the cages to absorb waste and to allow the cats a surface on which to rest. It was important not to use too much newspaper, as it could interfere with the trap mechanism. Canned mackerel was an effective bait and should be placed at the back of the trap so the cat wouldn’t get hurt when door of the trap closes
. She suggested that trappers conceal the trapdoor with a towel. After ferals are caught, they should be fed and watered as needed.
Anneke printed her cat-trapping manual and read it over. Not satisfied, she made a number of changes. Perfectionist that she was, Anneke prepared four drafts before she was pleased with the text.
The next day, Jane accompanied Anneke to Vera’s clinic.
“I think you’re amazing,” Anneke remarked. “You just had a baby, and you’re back at work already.”
“Just a few hours a day, for now. I understand you’ve prepared some instructions for trapping feral cats.” Anneke handed Vera the trapping procedure. Vera examined it in silence, nodding from time to time. “This is terrific, Anneke. I’ll fax it over to the CDC, along with the list of likely locations of feral cats you gave me the other day.”
“The CDC! How did they get involved?” After Vera filled her in, Anneke said, “I never met the Kraakmo guy, but I know of him. He’s the scientist who discovered that FHF started in a Seattle zoo, right?”
“That’s right, and now he’s helping with the search for ferals. It’s a team effort. There are the trappers from the CDC, and Noah and Gary, who are synthesizing the vector to inject into cat’s ova. Mrs. Kraakmo is paying for some specialized equipment—it’s all going to take a lot of money. I’ve formed a non-profit corporation I call the Feline Phoenix to receive donations.”
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