World without Cats

  Jane held Miranda on the table. Vera booted the ultrasound computer.

  She looked up at Jane. “Ready?” At Jane’s nod, she held the wand over the cat’s abdomen. She had positioned the monitor so that it was visible by the visitors, enabling all to see what she saw. “Here we go.” In a moment she found it—a minute, rapid movement. Vera took a deep breath. I can’t let those lookie-loos see me cry. She held up her two thumbs and forefingers toward the window and formed a heart symbol. She could barely hear the cheer from the spectators through the thick glass, but when she looked up, they were applauding. She moved the wand further down the abdomen. There was another tiny beater. The group needed no prompt this time and cheered again. Vera positioned the wand on the other side of the cat’s belly. There she found a third beating heart. Miranda had received only three embryos. All had implanted successfully.

  “Looking good,” Vera said, hoarsely. “Jane! Keep the cat still!” Vera looked up to see Jane had let go, her hands groping for a tissue to wipe the tears streaming down her face. Vera laughed, and then she cried. The women hugged each other. Miranda lay quietly.

  “Oh shit!” said Vera. “I forgot. We have an audience.” She glanced at the visitors. They were still clapping; some were laughing, some crying.

  Ophelia carried three viable fetuses also; one of the four she had received had not survived. Juliet and Jessica showed only two each.

  “Ten out of fifteen,” noted Vera. “That’s better than I hoped for.”

  Jane said, “Oh? I was hoping for 100 percent.”

  “No, the success rate for embryo transplantation in cats generally runs around 50 percent. We got two-thirds.”

  “In that case, congratulations.” She pointed at the cages. “Should we check the second batch?”

  “No, it’s a little too early for them. Remember, they received embryos a few days after the first group.”

  The crowd outside drifted away, but Noah remained. When Vera emerged from the lab, he gave her a hug.

  “Watch out,” she grunted. “You’ll crush Lilith.”

  “Nah. I’ve got her.”

  “Here, let me hold her.” Vera took the sleeping bundle. “You know,” she remarked, “about eleven months ago, our little girl didn’t look much different than those cat embryos.”

  Noah nodded. “This is a major milestone, isn’t it? Nothing to do now but wait for the mothers to give birth.”

  “Yes. We’re almost there. If the CDC manages to locate more feral cats, we could doctor some more embryos, but I understand that they’ve not been finding anymore.”

  A week later, Vera examined the first gravid queens for the second time. A smaller group of observers was assembled outside the window. As she moved the wand over Jessica’s belly, Vera said, “There. See? Now there’s a head.”

  Jane scanned the monitor. “I don’t see … oh, that round thing.” She pointed at the monitor and then at her own head. The spectators saw it too. Jane and Vera could barely hear their applause through the wall.

  All ten of the embryos were viable and developing as they should. Now it was time to check the second group. Jane retrieved a gray tabby named Helena from its cage and placed it on the table. The feral cats were still somewhat resistant to human handling, but could be calmed by constant petting and soothing talk. After a few minutes, Helena had stopped struggling and actually began to purr as Jane stroked her belly. “Must have been someone’s pet cat at one time,” Vera observed. She scanned the abdomen and shortly detected a diminutive beating heart, followed by another.

  “Looks like only two viable embryos in this one,” Vera remarked. “Let’s check the rest.” The other three queens, Diana, Hermione, and a part-tabby, part-spotted female they had named Lady Macbeth—they called her Lady M—harbored six among them. Vera could find only one living embryo in Lady M. All in all there were now eighteen feline embryos in the BSL-3 cat lab at the institute.

  Angelo, was in constant contact with the Paris and Russian groups. He kept Noah and Vera informed by e-mail. The Paris group now had thirty-seven viable embryos. They had lost one queen, carrying two embryos, to an unknown disease. She had just sickened and died. A necropsy failed to reveal the reason. The remaining twelve surrogate mothers were healthy, however. Several were already exhibiting nest-building behavior and were given piles of sterile cheesecloth to use at will.

  The Moscow group had not received any additional feral cats after the first batch, but their fourteen embryos were developing normally. The CDC facility had received two more vanloads and was now host to sixteen gestating queens.

  On Labor Day, Vera invited Jane and Gary over for barbeque. Vera propped Lilith against a cushion, and they enjoyed the shade by the pines. Noah manned the grill, while Gary and Jane tossed a Frisbee back and forth. Vera was exhausted. Magic bullets, two-month-old baby girl, vet practice … what was I thinking? She noticed that Lilith’s eyes followed the Frisbee whenever either Gary or Jane launched the disk.

  Vera called, “Noah!” When he looked her way, she pointed at Lilith.

  He came running over. “Son of a gun! That’s new, right?”

  “It’s new.” Vera was captivated by Noah’s reaction to each new advance by their daughter.

  “I wish it was time for the kittens to be born,” Jane called. “The suspense is unbearable.”

  Gary walked over to Jane and put his hands on her shoulders. “You know,” he said, “this whole idea is a long shot. It might well be a complete failure. Maybe the bullet didn’t get incorporated into any of the embryonic DNA. Or, maybe some of the cats did get it, but it might not be oriented properly. There are a million things that can go wrong.”

  Jane put her finger to Gary’s mouth. “Don’t be such a pessimist. Can’t you look on the positive side for once?”

  “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be crushed if none of the kittens survive.”

  “Is there any way to tell, after the kittens are born, if they have picked up the bullet?”

  Noah called, “That’s an interesting question, Jane. Gary, come over here a minute. Let’s talk about that.”

  “What’s on your mind?” asked Gary.

  Noah was silent a moment. “Suppose we took some cells from the mouths of the kittens. We could use our RNA copy of the bullet to locate any DNA copies. We could either amplify them with PCR or confirm the bullet genes with pyrosequencing.”

  Gary nodded. “Right. If they’re there, we should be able to find the sequences. Then we could at least predict which kittens will not be resistant to FHF.”

  “Yes, but finding a DNA copy of the bullet wouldn’t guarantee that a kitten would be resistant.”

  Gary thought a moment. “Yeah, but if we could divide the kittens into two groups, one not likely to be resistant and the other possibly resistant, then, if, in fact, some of the possible group were resistant, that would be proof that our bullet worked.”

  “I wish you’d get out of the habit of using the word proof when you mean confirmation. But you’re right. I think we should get set up to look at that.” He turned toward the kitchen where Vera had gone to fix the salad. “Vera, did you hear that?”

  “No,” she called. “What is it?”

  Noah described the plan to test the kittens for the presence of the bullet. “Can you get cells from a newborn kitten? Say, epithelia from inside the mouth?”

  “Sure I can. That’s a great idea.” She paused. “Of course we may have a huge letdown. What if none of the cats has it? Then it’s game over.”

  “Of course that’s possible. But does it matter if we know that sooner rather than later?”

  “I guess not. Oh, God, I’m scared. I thought I could take my mind off the cat thing for at least one day.”

  “I seem to recall,” he replied with humor, “you chastising me once for saying something to that effect. You said that ca
ring people were talking of little else these days. Remember that?”

  “Yes. I guess the foot’s in the other shoe.”

  “These patties are about done,” said Noah, changing the subject. “Who wanted medium?”

  The four sat down at the picnic table and did, somehow, manage to avoid the topic of FHF and the cats for the rest of the afternoon.

  25

  October 2021

  573,000

  The fall Santa Ana winds wailed. In the BSL-3 cat lab, deep within the molecular-biology building, Vera and Kal could hear the shriek of moving air as it whipped around the building’s corners.

  “I think Miranda’s going to have her kittens tonight,” Vera mentioned. “She’s been pacing back and forth in her cage and rearranging the bedding.”

  Kal nodded. “If I were the praying sort, I guess this would be the time.”

  When Vera arrived at the lab the next day, there they were—three tiny newborns. Vera approached Miranda softly. The three wee kittens were nursing. Miranda, eyes closed, was purring softly. And they say that feral cats don’t purr. Hah! Vera examined the other gravid queens, and, by the time she returned to Miranda, the neonates were asleep. I’ve got to sit down … I haven’t seen a litter of kittens in two years. She held her breath and drank in the sight. Are these tiny creatures the last of their species? Or its resurrection? One at a time she removed the kittens from the cage, weighed them, and, with a sterile cotton swab, brushed the sides of their mouths to obtain cells that Noah and Gary would use to find if the kittens had acquired the bullet genes.

  Vera phoned Noah to tell him the news. He soon appeared, along with Gary and a few biochemistry students, and shortly, a small crowd had gathered outside the observation window. Vera dutifully held up the kittens for the onlookers’ benefit, and, as she knew they would, the group applauded.

  Later, when Vera brought the three vials containing the kittens’ cells to Noah’s lab, she said, “It’s time for your part, my dear.”

  “Great! I’m glad to finally play a role in this drama.”

  “How long will it take to find out if these cats have the bullet?” she asked.

  “Just a day or so. It’s really not that much work. Gary, you want to get started on these?”

  “Sure thing, Doc.”

  “It won’t be too many days before we have more of these to process,” Vera observed. I expect Gertrude is going to give birth any day.”

  “That’s fine. Once we’re set up to do these tests, it’s pretty simple to do repeated runs. By the way,” he added, “how are you going to name the kittens? I see you’ve labeled these tubes A, B and C. Can’t we be more imaginative than that?”

  “Hmmm. If we continue the Shakespearian theme, we may run out of names. Besides, I’m not sure of the sex of these kittens yet. I think we have two females and one male. It’s hard to tell when they’re just born. Let’s wait until they are a few days old at least.”

  “A, B and C it is, then.” He started to join Gary, and then turned abruptly. “Hey! Let’s name the kittens after famous scientists!”

  “I don’t know if we could come up with enough female names,” noted Vera.

  “Sure we could: Marie Curie, Barbara McClintock, Grace Hopper, Ada Lovelace …” Noah paused for breath “Madame Lavoisier, Lise Meitner, Mary Leakey, Roz Franklin, Lynn Margulis, Vera Barnett-Chamberlin. There’re lots of them.”

  “Oh, please. That last one doesn’t belong.”

  Noah replied, “Oh, I don’t know. History may decide otherwise.”

  “You’re very kind, sir,” she said, feigning a mock curtsey. “Anyway, as for the names, I’d rather stick to literature. Perhaps famous characters from novels.” She laughed. “Can you imagine a cat saying ‘Call me Ishmael’?”

  Noah laughed. “Listen to us. As if choosing names for the kittens was at all important. What matters is if they survive FHF.”

  Tuesday morning of the following week, Vera relaxed at the clinic, reading the newspaper and sipping coffee, when a familiar figure entered. “Hello, Dr. Barnett, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “No, I’m just taking a break. Uh, I know you, but I can’t recall where from.”

  “Sorry. I’m Sandra McNally from The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.”

  “Of course. Now I remember. You were here with Dr. Kraakmo last year.”

  “That’s right. I’m still the lead reporter for FHF at The J-C, and I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you have the time. I’ve visited the CDC from time to time, and I’m pretty much up to date on their efforts, but I thought I might acquire a different perspective from you.” She pulled out her small recorder and, when Vera nodded her assent, turned it on. “After all,” she continued, “this thing with using the leukemia virus to carry FHF genes into eggs is your idea.”

  “Well, mine and Dr. Chamberlin’s and his associate, Gary McKeever.”

  At that moment, Vera’s phone chimed. It was Kal from the cat lab. “Gertrude has given birth to three kittens,” he said, “D, E, and F have joined us.”

  “That’s great,” Vera exclaimed. “How do they look? Just a minute, Kal, I’m putting you on speaker. Sandra McNally from Atlanta is here.”

  “Hi, Ms. McNally.”

  “Sandra, please,” she called out.

  “Sandra, I phoned to tell Vera that we have our second litter. Three more kittens were born last night. They seem to be in good shape. I’ll weigh them before I leave.”

  Vera said, “Don’t forget to take mouth swabs for Noah.”

  “Right. The swabs are right here. By the way, Naomi, Adam, and Eve have opened their eyes, and Naomi is exploring the cage.” In the end, they had decided to use biblical names for the kittens.

  Vera laughed. “That’s wonderful.”

  After Vera hung up the phone, McNally remarked, “Well, it seems I arrived at a propitious time.”

  Vera nodded. “Everything is going as well as we could have hoped. I understand that the other labs—Moscow, Paris, as well as the CDC—are making similar progress.”

  “I guess the big question on everyone’s mind is what are the chances for success … for survival of the domestic cat?”

  Vera shrugged. “As you know, nothing like this has ever been done before. We can only hope that we’ve got the science right … and that Mother Nature will give us a break.”

  McNally raised her eyebrows. “Do you believe in God, Vera? Is it okay if I call you Vera?”

  “That’s my name.” Vera pursed her lips and pondered the question. “I guess I believe in some kind of God. Not the old bearded guy up in the sky, but a creative force that … oh, how can I put it … that started the big bang or something.

  “In any case, whether our efforts to save the cats are successful or not, will depend not on any supernatural force, but on the validity of our ideas and on our laboratory and veterinary skills.”

  McNally’s thumbs raced as she typed into her PDA. Vera stared. “Why all the typing?” she asked. “You’re recording our talk, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’m adding ideas for a column. You know, I’m not the only reporter here in Camarillo. I ran into several reporter friends, one from The New York Times and one from Fox News.”

  Vera chuckled. “Don’t I know it! Almost every day, I have several show up, either here at my practice or over at the institute. I have to take time out to answer questions. I’m not complaining. The public has a right and a need to know what we’re doing.”

  “You sound like a journalist.”

  Vera shrugged. “Fortunately, Lowell Stanaland has hired a PR pro to deal with the press so Noah and I aren’t tied up. The guy puts out daily press releases on the institute’s letterhead describing the previous day’s developments, if there are any.”

  McNally nodde
d. “I’d like to see some of them.”

  “Sure,” Vera said, “I’ll transfer the entire batch to your PDA right now.” She opened her laptop and hit a few buttons. “Done.”

  “Thank you so much,” uttered McNally. She eyed the small screen in her hand. “Nineteen of them. This is great!”

  Vera was pensive. “There’s a huge amount of interest worldwide in the cat crisis. These press releases let everyone know when Adam the kitten opened his eyes, when Naomi could walk three feet without collapsing into a tiny ball of fur—every milestone.”

  “Now you sound like a poet,” McNally said.

  Vera was taken aback. “It’s interesting,” she observed, “that in the last fifty years we’ve had other calamitous declines in populations—some bat species, the Tasmanian devil, honeybee colonies—but in none of these did most people take such a keen interest. What’s different this time?” She answered her own question. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Cats aren’t only our pets, they’re … they’re family.”

  Noah was feeding baby Lilith mashed peas, managing to get about a third of the green pulp into her mouth. “We finished the DNA work on the first three kittens today,” he said.

  Vera rushed in from the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me? What did you find?”

  “It seems that two of them have the bullet, but we couldn’t find any evidence for it in the third. I think that A and C might survive FHF but I don’t think that B will.”

  “They have names, now. Let me see … A is Naomi and C is Eve. Oh. The two females have the bullet, but the male doesn’t. I wonder if that’s significant. It would be ironic, in a horrific way, if only female zygotes were able to take up the bullet. All our work would be for nothing.”