Gary shrugged.
Anneke arrived at seven thirty the next morning, and, after coffee, juice, and muffins, the three set out in Gary’s Honda. “Thanks for letting me tag along,” Anneke said from the back seat.
“Hey, no problem,” Gary replied. “Glad to have you.”
Sycamore Canyon was located in the Santa Monica Mountains; the trailhead was near the ocean. Gary pulled the car into the parking area by the beach, and the three of them set out up the path in silence. Gary didn’t find Anneke particularly attractive. Too skinny for my taste. She should do something with her hair—a ponytail doesn’t work for her; even her wire-frame glasses aren’t stylish.
“Aooo,” Jane cried out.
Gary stopped. “What?”
“Nothing,” Jane said, “just a lizard that caught me by surprise.”
Gary chuckled. “Forget the lizards and watch out for rattlesnakes instead. They’re active at this time of year.”
“There are rattlesnakes here?” asked Anneke. “If I had known that, I would have thought twice about coming.”
Gary replied, “Just stay on the path, and you probably won’t meet up with one. There are coyotes and mountain lions in these mountains too, but they aren’t likely to approach a group of people.” He wondered how a woman who’s supposed to be an animal-lover could be so uneasy near wild animals.
“I’m from Chicago,” said Anneke. “We don’t have wild animals like that in Illinois.”
“No, but you’ve got wolves, don’t you?” said Gary. “And bears? I guess Californians have a different perspective than Midwesterners. You guys want to rest?” he asked as they came to a large, flat rock.
“Sure,” said Jane.
Gary passed around a canteen of water.
Anneke took a swig, passed it to Jane, and turned to Gary. “I guess we’re safe as long as we have a strong guy like you to protect us.” She smiled.
“Hey!” Jane cried out. “Stop flirting with my boyfriend.”
Although he knew Jane was joking, Gary felt a flush spread over his face.
“I was just kidding around,” said Anneke. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
They sat in silence for a minute, catching their breath. Anneke then said, “Say, Gary …”
“Yeah?”
“What kind of research are you doing at the U?”
“It’s molecular biology. I’m working on a cat disease.”
“What do you mean a cat disease? Do you infect cats with a virus or something?”
Although he knew Anneke was an animal-lover, Gary was startled by the tone of her voice. “Well, yes … no … it’s a hereditary disease. It’s called macroerythrocytic feline anemia—or MEFA for short.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s rather rare,” Gary noted. “It’s kind of like sickle-cell anemia in humans.”
“I think we better get going,” Jane interjected.
“Right,” said Gary, grateful for the interruption. He certainly didn’t want to get into a debate on the use of animals in research with Jane’s best friend.
The trio resumed its trek up the canyon. Gary tried to think of a way to reach Anneke. Should I tell her about all the advances in human disease prevention that have resulted from animal research? How about all the safety precautions we take?
“Do you use real cats?” Anneke asked, breaking his thought train.
“Of course we do,” he replied. “We hope to be able to make the cats better with recombinant DNA.”
“You mean that you put foreign genes into the cats? Isn’t that dangerous?” She stopped walking and brushed the dust off her pants. “Besides, I don’t like the idea of using animals for research.”
Gary turned to face her. He opened his mouth and started to speak, but Jane interrupted: “All right, you two, let’s just enjoy the hike.” As if to add emphasis, the sweet song of a finch came from nearby.
Gary ignored Jane’s plea. “Look, Anneke,” he declared, making an effort to keep his voice under control, “we treat the cats humanely. We keep them well-fed, we clean up after them, we take care of them if they get sick. I would say that our cats are a lot better off than feral cats.”
Anneke asked, “Do you keep the cats in cages?”
“Yes, they’re kept in stainless-steel cages that are cleaned every day.”
“Shit! You think that cats in cages are better off than cats running wild? I don’t think so.”
Gary stared at Anneke’s wrinkled brow. Her mouth was a thin line. He took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Hey!” he cried. “Look over there. There’s still some water in the stream.” The three of them left the path and climbed down to the almost-dry riverbed. “Watch out for the nettles,” cautioned Gary, pointing to a plant with small, purple flowers. “They’ll give you an itch you won’t forget.” A California jay squawked at the intruders from a tree on the opposite bank. It flew down and drank from the trickle of water a few yards upstream.
Anneke traced her initials in the dirt. She frowned. “Why do you have to use cats? Why can’t you use computer modeling? A lot of medical research is being done that way.”
Gary realized that Anneke was not about to be distracted. He noticed Jane staring angrily at him. Turning back to Anneke, he said, “I wouldn’t know how to do that. A feline disease has to be studied in cats. We do use computers in the research, but they are an aid, not a substitute for the actual science.”
They continued on up the path a short distance, but Gary was becoming overheated. Either the hot July sun or the confrontation with Anneke was beginning to make hiking unpleasant. “I think we ought to go back down to the beach and have lunch,” he said.
After working their way down the canyon, they drove the car to a parking area by the sand and spread out a blanket. The surf was low, and, although it was a warm weekend day, there weren’t many other people about. Jane unpacked the lunch while Gary passed out soft drinks.
Again, he tried to bridge the gap with Anneke. “Don’t you agree that knowledge about animal diseases can ultimately be used to find the cure for human diseases?” He glimpsed Jane rolling her eyes.
Anneke responded, “Sure I do, but that doesn’t justify the use of animals for human benefit. Animals have rights.”
“I think humans come first,” Gary replied, a trace of anger in his voice. She won’t give it up, he thought.
“The animal-rights issue is like the slavery question during the nineteenth century,” she said. “Today we look back on slavery and wonder how otherwise good, God-fearing white people could have justified it. But, of course, they did justify it, at least in the South, using any number of economic and pseudo-scientific arguments. I think, in fifty or a hundred years, we’ll look back on animal experimentation in the same way.”
“There’s no comparison,” grumbled Gary.
“You’re too involved with it to see it.” She shook her head and walked, alone, to the water’s edge.
The remainder of the outing did not go well. Jane tried repeatedly to change the subject, but the two would not let go of the argument. Finally, they had to cut the trip short and return to Camarillo. Anneke departed in silence while Jane just glared at Gary.
“What?” said Gary. “It’s not my fault that she’s some kind of fanatic.”
“You could’ve just not talked about the cats so we might have had a more pleasant day.”
“But it was Anneke who wouldn’t let it go,” he grunted. “Aw, shit, never mind.” Gary grabbed his music player and inserted the earbuds, ending further argument.
Leon and Rebecca Smith of Sweet Home, Oregon, did not have many possessions in their small cabin. They did have an old RCA phonograph and a collection of vintage 78-rpm jazz recordings. But what they loved most was their all-black mouser named Bib. Bib stood for “Black is Beaut
iful.” The couple was asleep one evening when Bib, prowling in the nearby forest, came upon a rabid squirrel. The animals fought to the death. Bib, the survivor, sustained several injuries from the squirrel’s claws, but had not been bitten.
In the morning Rebecca called, “Bib! Bib! Where are you you little rascal?” She went outside to discover Bib lying on the porch, licking his wounds.
“Oh my lands! What have you been up to?” She scooped up the injured cat, placed it in a carrier, and drove into town to the vet’s clinic; it wouldn’t open for twenty minutes. Rebecca sat outside with Bib in her lap.
When Dr. Healy arrived, he examined the wounds. “Looks like he was in a fight with some animal. See these scratches?” Rebecca nodded. “Could be from a squirrel, another cat … possum … I don’t know.”
“He’s gonna be okay, right?”
“I think so. I don’t see any serious wounds. I’ll have his blood checked for rabies virus and write a prescription for amoxicillin. I think he’ll be fine.”
Rebecca started to sob.
“Hey, Rebecca, I think he’s going to be okay.”
“I know. I know. I just thought he might …”
Neither Rebecca nor Dr. Healy would ever suspect that the squirrel had, in fact, carried rabies, but the virus had not been transferred to Bib.
3
September 2019
1,099,900,000
One warm morning, shortly after fall classes had begun, Noah headed for the institute on his bike. It’s going to be a hot one, he thought. He noticed a television news van headed along the campus road toward the institute. What’s that about? he wondered. As he followed it, he heard an amplified female voice. Noah strained his ears and could make out the phrases “animal rights” and “defenseless cats.” Uh oh, this can’t be good.
Arriving at his building, he encountered a crowd of people carrying signs with the CLAWS logo. One read “NO PETS FOR RESEARCH!” Another read, “CLAW AWAY VIVISECTION.”
Noah spotted the speaker, a young woman with glasses and dark hair collected in a ponytail, perched on a makeshift podium and addressing the throng with a wireless mike.
“… they keep the cats in small cages where the animals have limited room to move around. This sort of thing should not be allowed at CSUCI.”
Noah felt a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. He made his way to a rear entrance, where Gary was waiting in the lab.
“What’s going on out there?” asked Noah.
“Anneke Weiss,” Gary replied. “That’s Jane’s friend. You know, the woman I told you about, the one who believes we shouldn’t be experimenting with cats.”
“Oh brother, what next? How did she get so many people out there?”
“She’s been posting fliers all over campus announcing a rally against animal research.”
“I saw a TV news van. How did they know about it?”
“I guess she notified them,” Gary said. “I bet there are newspaper reporters too. I’m sorry, Doc. This is kinda my fault. I guess I should have avoided arguing with her.”
“It’s not your fault at all. There’s no way you could have anticipated what she’d do.”
Noah’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It was Dr. Stanaland, head of the institute.
“Noah,” said Stanaland, “can you come up here right away? We have to talk.”
Noah closed the phone. “I’ve got to run. Dr. Stanaland, wants to see me. He’s not a guy you keep waiting.”
“Oh crap!” Gary said. “You know it’s about the crowd, right?”
Noah shrugged. “Gary, trust me. Dr. Stanaland is a fair man. He won’t blame you … us.”
When Noah entered Lowell E. Stanaland’s outer office, Mrs. Gonzalez motioned him to go right in. He stepped into an impeccably neat room whose darkly stained oak cabinets and rich, beige cowhide chairs and sofa conveyed the ambience of a four-hundred-dollar-an-hour attorney’s office rather than that of a scientist. Noah always felt awestruck in Stanaland’s presence. Here was a man who had worked with Nobel-Prize-winning molecular biologist, Francis Crick—first at Cambridge and later at the Salk Institute. He was amused that the institute’s head wore a custom-tailored suit and tie, an anomaly in an environment where most of the scientists dressed informally. Of course, Noah was aware that this was not an affectation; it was a reflection of Stanaland’s formal British upbringing. His father had been a high-level diplomat in the British foreign service.
Noah walked a few paces across the deep-piled maroon carpet. Stanaland rose and stepped to the large window, where he could observe the goings-on below.
“I take it you wanted to see me about what’s going on outside,” said Noah. He held Stanaland in high esteem both for his impressive scientific accomplishments and as a leader. He also looked up to the man literally, as Stanaland stood six foot three. Even his deep, modulated voice commanded respect.
“Noah, I’m quite familiar with your research, and I support it totally. So I think we should arrange an open meeting with students and faculty to address the issue of animal experimentation. I want you to explain to everyone why your work is important and why you need to use cats. Those students have the right to protest your research, but you have an equal right to defend it.”
Noah stood there a moment, saying nothing. He resented that he’d have to defend himself to a bunch of students who were ignorant of the value of scientific investigation.
Stanaland had arranged a meeting with the protesters for a Friday afternoon. Noah entered the lecture hall fifteen minutes early and was surprised to see that the room was already half full. A few days earlier, Anneke Weiss had written an inflammatory article in the campus newspaper attacking not only the use of cats for research but gene-cloning as well. She had suggested a multitude of horrors that might result from the kind of work that Noah and Gary were engaged in. The next day, the article had been reprinted verbatim in the local newspaper. That accounts for the crowd, Noah thought. My God, this room holds two hundred people. It’s going to fill up.
A large table had been placed at the front of the room. Noah nodded to Dr. Stanaland, who was already seated. At the same table, Noah identified Anneke Weiss, along with Andrea Vernon, the university’s biological safety officer, and Sanjay Krishnamurti, the campus veterinarian. Noah sat down at the table and looked around the hall. He spied Gary in the third row, holding one of their research cats, an orange male named George.
After Stanaland introduced him, Noah made his way to the microphone. There was scattered booing and a few shouts of, “No animal research!”
Noah slowly examined his audience. “Thank you, Dr. Stanaland. I am grateful for this opportunity to explain my work to the students and faculty of CSUCI and to citizens of Camarillo.
“First, let me assure you that recombinant DNA research has been carried out for over a quarter of a century without any problems.” Noah glanced at an outline he had prepared.
“Get to the point!” shouted a voice from the audience.
Momentarily stunned by the outcry, Noah reddened.
Stanaland stood. He looked right at the offender and announced, “I must ask that you respect Dr. Chamberlin’s right to speak. If there are further disruptions, in the interest of civility, I will have those responsible removed from the room.” Aside from some isolated booing, the hall was quiet.
Noah regained his composure. “Do you realize that everybody here has recombinant DNA in his chromosomes at this very moment?” As Noah had expected, there were exclamations of disbelief. “Evolution of life on earth depends on it. That’s right,” he continued, “genetic recombination is a normal process occurring in all sexual species. It’s simply the exchange of genes between the chromosomes of a pair; in animals this takes place when sperm and eggs are formed.”
When Noah mentioned “sperm
and eggs,” he noticed a little blond girl in a light-blue pinafore being hustled out of the hall by a stern-faced woman. A low current of laughter followed. Noah stared, open-mouthed. Unbelievable!
“Uh, where—oh yes. Although DNA recombination is a natural process,” Noah went on pedantically, “we can also do it in the laboratory.” At this, the hall was again filled with laughter, but it took Noah a moment to get the joke. Disgusted, he shook his head. Damn! This is turning into a circus. “What I mean,” he explained after the last titter had faded, “is that chemically we can fuse different kinds of DNA. We can even take a piece of DNA from one species and attach it to a chromosome from another species.” The hall became suddenly quiet, but for the muted hiss of the air-conditioning.
Noah motioned to Gary, who came forward and handed over his furry charge. This brought forth a murmur from the audience.
“This is George,” said Noah, cradling the scrawny feline in his arms. “George has a disease called macroerythrocytic feline anemia, MEFA for short.” Gently stroking the gaunt animal, Noah explained the analogy between sickle cell anemia in humans and MEFA. He described how the red blood cells of cats afflicted with this disease would swell up like little balloons because their hemoglobin was defective. “Cats with MEFA are lethargic,” he pointed out. “They lie around all day, panting pathetically, and they rarely live to maturity.” He explained that the disease was the result of a naturally occurring mutation in the gene for one of the hemoglobin proteins called alpha-globin.
“What we hope to do is to isolate and clone the gene for normal alpha-globin from a healthy cat and then to attach this gene to a viral chromosome. The virus we use is called feline sarcoma virus and sometimes causes tumors in cats.”
“Why don’t you just say cancer?” yelled an angry male voice from the middle of the auditorium.
“All right, cancer,” Noah acknowledged. He had to remind himself not to raise his voice. “However, the strain we use has been genetically altered so that it can no longer cause cancer. It is what we call a defective virus.” Noah wiped his brow. “Anyway, after we attach the globin gene to this virus chromosome, we will allow the virus to infect certain immature blood cells from cats with MEFA. We hope that, as these cells mature, they will form normal alpha-globin in these sick animals.”
World without Cats Page 2
