World without Cats (25 page)

By early January, three more of the inoculated cats had died. Vera now became deeply disquieted. She suggested to Noah that they start preparing another batch of vaccine, but he felt they should wait. “What’s the use of making more of the stuff if we don’t even know if it’s any good?” he said. “If it does work, it won’t take long for Fermentacorp to gear up and turn out the vaccine.”

It was eight months since feline hemorrhagic fever had appeared on the West Coast. The disease was now as familiar as the common cold. The number of domestic cats that had perished was not known. However, veterinary epidemiologist Darnall Rengis at the University of Michigan estimated that 80 to 90 percent of the animals in North America had died. Cats in Europe and Asia were becoming ill at an alarming rate. Spot-checks indicated that worldwide, three-fourths of all domestic cats on Earth were wiped out.

On the Australian continent, plagues of mice were invading homes, clogging machinery, and destroying cereal crops. Farmers were poisoning thousands of mice each night and scooping up their carcasses with skip loaders the next day. In New South Wales, a pilot was killed when his small plane skidded on a runway swarming with mice. Australia’s minister of agriculture pointed out that the murine population explosion was not simply due to the absence of cats, but to bountiful crops following an exceptionally wet winter and spring.

In Los Angeles County, after a thirty-four-year-old woman was diagnosed as the thirteenth victim of plague in four months, public-health officials declared that plague, both pneumonic and bubonic, had reached epidemic status. Emergency measures would be taken to eradicate infected rodents. It was the largest outbreak of the disease since 1924, when pneumonic plague killed thirty-three people in the county.

Baboons in zoos all over the world were coming down with FHF-like illnesses. Some died, but most survived. The primates proved to be considerably more resistant to FHF than domestic cats. Ruth Schau, senior zoologist at the National Zoo in Washington, pointed out that no primates other than baboons had developed the illness. The NIH and the USDA worked with the CDC to monitor all viral infections in zoo animals. They stood ready to impose strict quarantines at the first sign of FHF in primates other than baboons.

Throughout North America, veterinarians were inoculating any cats brought to their clinics with all the common FIV and FeLV vaccines. They and the cats’ owners hoped that one or more of these might protect the animals against FHF. None of the vaccines demonstrated any benefit.

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All the test cats at the institute were dead. The vaccine had failed. Vera phoned Brock Osborne to break the news.

“Oh no! What a blow!” cried Osborne. “I had such hopes for it.”

“We all did.”

“I guess that’s it, then. I don’t see how domestic cats can survive.”

“Yes. I have to agree. Thanks for daring to take a risk. It took courage.” Vera ended the call. And then the tears began.

Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday. Noah and Vera were not in a loving mood. The scourge of FHF was all they could think about. Noah nursed a beer, but Vera, out of deference to her pregnancy, sipped club soda. They sat, deep in thought, listening to an old Miles Davis album whose mournful trumpet blues closely matched their spirit. Vera fell into Noah’s lap and sobbed in his arms.

“We’ll think of something,” he said, stroking her hair.

Vera raised her head. “You don’t believe that, do you? It’s really over. The domestic cat is about to become extinct.”

“Maybe we should contact Kraakmo before we give up,” Noah said without conviction. “I wish we could test the vaccine on cats that hadn’t been exposed to the virus.” Without warning, Vera grunted loudly.

“What’s that for?” asked Noah.

Vera responded with another guttural noise.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s the baby,” she replied. “It’s kicking me.”

Noah pulled up Vera’s top and placed his hand gently on her slightly rounded belly. On cue, the fetus moved again. “I felt it! I felt it!” Noah shouted.

“Right on schedule,” Vera remarked. “The mean time for the quickening is about twenty-one weeks. I’m right in there, I think.”

“Quickening? I haven’t heard that term in a long time. They still call it that?”

“In some circles. Wow! I guess this creature inside me is developing the way it should.” The fetal movement had, for the moment, completely taken her mind off the vaccine’s failure.

The following day, Vera’s mood had improved. At Noah’s suggestion, she phoned Angelo. “We really have only one chance left,” she explained. “We have to test the vaccine on cats that have never been exposed to FHF. Do you think we can find any cats like that? My God, are there any to be found?”

“Hmm … well, you know in most epidemics and epizootics, there are always some members of the population that escape the disease.
Some survive low-grade infections; others never come in contact with the agent. But with FHF, I don’t know. We’ve never met with a disease like this. I think we might advertise in the papers and on television for unexposed cats.”

“Advertise? Who would pay for that?”

“Nobody. We need only call a press conference and get the media interested.”

“Ah, yes. I see what you mean. Get the public involved.”

After a brief silence, Angelo said, “You know, there are still about seventy germ-free cats here at the CDC. I think several colonies are maintained for research in other institutions, as well. I know Cornell University has one, and there is a colony at one of the universities in Louisiana.”

“Why that’s perfect! That should be our first approach. Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Not so fast,” Angelo said. “Germ-free cats have been raised that way from birth. They’ve never been exposed to the routine microorganisms that normal kittens are. Therefore, their immune system is undeveloped. Even if they could be immunized against FHF successfully, they might succumb to other, more mundane microbes if released into the environment.”

“Oh … I see. Well, it might be worth exploring.”

“Yes. I’ll make some phone calls.”

Angelo’s misgivings concerning the fragility of germ-free cats were validated. Somehow, FHF had gained access to the colony at Cornell, destroying it before the staff even knew they had a problem. In Louisiana, scientists had tried to immunize the cats with various FHF fractions. None was effective; all the cats were lost.

Another germ-free colony was housed at the Washington State vet school at Pullman. Aware of the need to keep some cats alive in case FHF wiped out all the cats in the outside world, the biologists there refused to release any of the animals for experimental purposes. Their plan was, if an effective vaccine were developed, to immunize all cats in the colony and then breed them. In this way, there would be a population that might be able to re-establish the species. Angelo immediately saw the wisdom of the plan and ended his attempts to locate germ-free cat colonies. Because the cats’ immune systems were undeveloped, the animals couldn’t be used as research subjects anyway. They would almost certainly succumb to any of the dozens of viral or bacterial pathogens in the environment.

Vera received an e-mail from Angelo. The special pathogens scientists at the Pasteur Institute had also failed to protect cats with the envelope vaccine. He wrote of rumors circulating on the web, hinting that a group of Russian scientists working at the Moscow Institute for Veterinary Medicine had succeeded, but there had been no public announcement.

She phoned Brock Osborne again. He told her that he’d suspected from the start that the FHF envelope vaccine might not protect cats previously infected with FHF. “Can you afford to cook up another batch to test with cats free of the virus?” she asked, diffidently.

“I think so. I’ll get back to you.”

With Lowell Stanaland’s backing, Noah and Vera called a press conference to announce the need for unexposed cats. On Friday afternoon, a crowd of newspaper and television reporters gathered in the institute’s auditorium. All the major networks were represented as well as reporters from other parts of the world.

“As you are all aware,” Noah began, “the FHF crisis is reaching a point of no return. According to the best estimates, all but about 15 percent of domestic cats on the North American continent have perished, and most, if not all, of the remaining cats are presumed to be infected with the virus. Also, two thirds or more of cats outside North America have died. The chances are slim that the species will survive.” A murmur arose from the audience as reporters scribbled on their PDAs. “Other species are involved,” Noah continued, “including mountain lions and caracals.”

“Would you spell that?” asked a woman from
The Los Angeles Times.

Noah did, and added, “It’s an Asian cat. Something like a lynx, I think. It is quite possible that the virus could mutate in these species too, placing them in the same danger of extinction as
Felis catus
. We just don’t know.” Noah wiped his brow. “Over the past year,” he continued, “we’ve seen increasing evidence that the demise of cats has serious economic consequences as well as proving to be a threat to public health. Is it too late to do anything? We think not.”

A hush came over the reporters; they looked up expectantly. Noah paused to let the suspense build.

“We have a plan to immunize cats against the disease.” Noah waited for the commotion to die. “Since the middle of last year, scientists at the CDC and others here at the institute have worked to develop a vaccine against FHF. So far, all the tests have failed. Now, however, we may have a vaccine that will work. It was developed here at the Institute in collaboration with the CDC and is being manufactured by Fermentacorp in Davis, California.

“As some of you know,” continued Noah, “the first trial of this vaccine was a failure. Dr. Vera Barnett has inoculated twenty-seven cats brought to her from various places in the western United States. Unfortunately, none of these has survived. Why? We believe that all the cats were infected with FHF before they were brought to us, and that the vaccine is not likely to be effective unless it is given to cats before they become infected.

“That’s why we are asking representatives of the media for help. We want to put out a call for cats that have never been exposed. We believe that there must be some cats, perhaps in isolated environments, that have not had contact with the FHF virus.”

“What kind of environments?” asked a voice from the crowd.

“Oh, small towns where there might be someone keeping a cat and living alone … Any place where cats might have had no contact with other cats or with people who have been anywhere near cats. If we can locate such pets, with their owners’ permission, we will test the vaccine on them. We’ll immunize any cats that are volunteered, without cost to the owner. We’ll continue that policy until the vaccine has been tested sufficiently and shown to be effective.

“Of course there are no guarantees. The vaccine may have no protective effect. You’ll find all the necessary information on our website. We’ve also prepared handouts summarizing the details.”

The three sheets given to the media explained how to apply for the vaccine, and how to report possible FHF-free cats to the institute. Vera’s clinic would serve as the clearinghouse. Each application for the vaccine required a statement from a licensed veterinarian certifying that the cat in question appeared to be free of FHF. The vet’s address and telephone number had to be included.

That evening, the unprecedented appeal was announced nationwide by the broadcast media. By the next day, it had appeared in all the world’s largest newspapers and was being broadcast several times a day on radio and television. Countless websites and blogs were devoted to the search for unexposed cats.

Noah and Vera were married at the Unitarian Universalist Church in Ventura. It was a small, unpretentious wedding, with only Gary and Jane present to act as witnesses and Dr. Stanaland to give away the bride. Vera wore turquoise; she was five months along.

“It isn’t often I’ve seen you wearing a dress,” Noah observed, “let alone a maternity dress doubling as a wedding gown.”

“I’m not the dressy-feminine type,” Vera replied.

“No, you’re not. That’s one of the many qualities I love about you, soon-to-be Mrs. Chamberlin.” Her smile was luminous; she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious. Noah, however, manifested his usual nervousness.

They traveled south for a short honeymoon in La Jolla and spent one full day at the San Diego Zoo. “Busman’s holiday,” mumbled Noah as they went through the turnstile.