World without Cats

by Bonham Richards

  Noah paused to let his words sink in and looked over the audience. They were quiet now, obviously interested in his proposed research. He noticed quite a few puzzled faces. “Before I go on, I would be happy to answer any questions.”

  Noah nodded toward a thirtyish, bearded man wearing blue jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt embroidered with birds and flowers.

  “Dr. Chamberlin, my name is Norman Orgell. I teach biology at Camarillo High. I have several questions. First, what kind of bacteria do you use for cloning the alpha-globin gene?”

  “We use a type of Escherichia coli, the common intestinal bacterium.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous? Isn’t there a chance that someone in the lab could ingest the bacteria, which could then multiply in the gut? Couldn’t such a person carry the bacteria, with their recombinant DNA, everywhere he or she went?”

  Noah was prepared for this one. “There are two reasons why there is no danger. First, we use a mutant of E. coli incapable of surviving in the gut of any animal, including humans. Our strain of E. coli has many, many mutations that prevent it from competing with normal bacteria in the intestine. It can only survive in the highly complex artificial media that we prepare for it.

  “Secondly, the recombinant DNA itself is not dangerous. There is no way the gene for alpha-globin could be dangerous to anyone, even if, by some remote chance, it did manage to escape from the lab.”

  “Thank you. I think I understand,” said Norman Orgell.

  Noah spotted a blond woman with her hand raised. She looks familiar, Noah thought. Quite a looker. She’s been taking notes.

  “Dr. Chamberlin, my name is Vera Barnett. I’m a veterinarian. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ve never heard of MEFA. Is it very widespread?”

  “No, not at all,” Noah replied. “As I mentioned, cats inheriting the disease rarely live to sexual maturity, so there is a strong natural selection against MEFA. The disease is what you might call a laboratory curiosity.”

  “Then where do you get cats with MEFA?” asked the veterinarian.

  “The disease was discovered about ten years ago in the laboratory of Thomas Stambaugh at Harvard. Two kittens from a litter of five were scrawnier than the others and, when he examined the blood of these kittens, he noticed the abnormal red blood cells. He reasoned that by analogy with sickle cell anemia in humans, MEFA might be almost asymptomatic in the heterozygous state. Sure enough, in the next litter from the same parents, one kitten of the four had the disease. So, to answer your question, the disease has been perpetuated in the laboratory by breeding cats heterozygous for the MEFA gene.”

  Noah sensed that the listeners had become restive. “Look, I know this is kind of heavy stuff, but what I want to emphasize is that there really is little or no risk for people associated with this research.

  “Many years ago, after several years of analyzing possible dangers involved in gene-cloning experiments, the National Institutes of Health established safety guidelines for the design of laboratories where recombinant DNA experiments were to be carried out. These guidelines specify four levels of possible risk. The lowest, or safest level, is the so-called Biosafety Level-1 lab. The next level is BSL-2 and so on up to BSL-4 for the really dangerous stuff like Ebola. Our research falls in the BSL-2 category and we follow the guidelines strictly.”

  “Why should we trust you?” yelled a voice from the rear. Several similar shouts followed. Stanaland stood. Immediately the hall was silent.

  “Here’s why,” Noah responded. “The NIH requires all institutions where gene-cloning experiments are carried out to have a special committee called the Institutional Biosafety Committee, or IBC, that makes sure that the guidelines are followed. Dr. Vernon here is the biological safety officer for CSUCI. In addition, two members of the IBC are appointed from the community. One of them is the Ventura County health officer, Dr. Jerome Robinson.

  “In addition, our animal facilities are inspected four times a year by members of the IACUC—that’s the Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee. Dr. Krishnamurti here, the campus veterinarian, heads that committee.

  “The IACUC is responsible for making sure that all animals used in research are treated humanely. In fact, no investigator can use experimental animals at all until his or her research proposal has been approved by the IACUC.” Noah mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. “There are four other members of the committee, including two members of the clergy, Reverend Darius Shultz, of the First Methodist Church in Camarillo, and Sister Damien Nuñez.”

  Noah motioned to Dr. Stanaland, indicating that he was finished. “Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to describe my research to you,” he concluded and, with George nestled in the crook of his arm, he returned to his seat.

  “Ms. Weiss, do you wish to respond?” offered Stanaland.

  Anneke rose. “Thank you, Professor Stanaland.” She removed her glasses, paused, and looked out over the hall. With a strong voice, she read from a deck of note cards, carefully placing each at the bottom of the stack as she finished with it. “I wish to address two facets of Dr. Chamberlin’s research—the immorality of using cats as research animals, and the danger of doing gene-cloning experiments.” She spoke in a measured cadence. Noah discretely popped an antacid tablet into his mouth.

  Anneke took a deep breath. “Since the beginnings of science, we have used animals as mere objects to be exploited, as if they weren’t sentient creatures.” She paused between sentences. “In fact, it wasn’t too long ago that scientists thought nothing of cutting open live animals, without anesthesia, for experimentation.” This brought forth a murmur from the audience. “Toward the beginning of the last century, some courageous individuals began to question such vivisection, and, eventually, it became outlawed in civilized countries. It is heartening that, as we evolve as a society, we become more ethical—more moral.” She stopped, transferred the top card to the bottom of the pile and again looked out over the audience.

  At that moment, George the cat gave forth with a piercing yowl that began with a high note and gradually descended in pitch, but not volume. Oh no, thought Noah, they’re going to think George is in pain. The audience responded in unison to the cry with a drawn-out, “Oooohhh.” They then laughed heartily, seemingly at their own reaction. Noah was relieved that the crowd seemed to be amused.

  Soon the merriment died down, and Anneke was able to continue. “For over a century, civilized nations have accepted the idea of racial equality and, for half a century, gender equality. Now it is time for us to adopt the moral equivalent—species equality, or at least mammalian equality.”

  This elicited scattered applause from the audience and a shout of “Bravo!”

  She went on. “Peter Singer, the noted philosopher and former Princeton professor, has written: ‘Dogs are conscious beings. They can feel pain, and they evidently enjoy many aspects of their lives. In that respect they are like you and me …

  “… the ethical principle on which human equality rests requires us to extend equal consideration to animals too.’”

  At the mention of Peter Singer, Noah rolled his eyes. Noah had once read a book by Singer in which the philosopher had defended the animal liberation movement. He turned to Stanaland to respond, but Anneke continued.

  “Now I’d like to turn to the question of gene-cloning and recombinant DNA. We live in a time when this kind of tinkering with the genomes of living things is taken for granted. We are told that it will help us solve all manner of problems. It will cure diseases, allow insect-resistant crops, even let us create plants that make plastic. However, many thinking people have raised serious questions about recombinant DNA technology.” Another card made its journey to the underside.

  “For example, Jeremy Rifkin, past president of the Foundation on Economic Trends in Washington, DC, wrote ‘Most recombinant-DNA experiments are done with E. coli bacteria, which ex
ists in the intestinal tracts of all human beings. The chief danger involved here is that a research accident could produce a particularly virulent virus that causes a disease for which there is no immunization. A lab technician who accidentally breathed or swallowed a few of its particles could then begin rapidly spreading the virus to others—perhaps eventually to a whole population.”

  When he heard the name Jeremy Rifkin, Noah groaned. Rifkin was widely known among molecular biologists as an arch enemy who had even gone to court to stop some forms of cloning research.

  Anneke again looked out over the audience and said, “I apologize for presenting my argument against recombinant DNA research by reading the words of others, but I think that these great thinkers, on the basis of their much more extensive knowledge, are able to state the case much better than I could. In conclusion, because of the grave threat posed to the environment by the research going on at this university, speaking for the students of CSUCI, I urge that all experiments involving recombinant DNA, especially where cats are used, be banned.”

  As Anneke put down her cards, the audience again began applauding. Here and there a few individuals stood up and finally, almost all were giving her a standing ovation.

  Lowell Stanaland waited for the applause to stop. “We have heard Dr. Chamberlin’s description of his proposed research,” he noted, “and we have listened to Ms. Weiss provide arguments against his investigation. I should point out that there are many other scientists here at the institute who are engaged in recombinant DNA work. If such research were stopped, it would effectively put us out of business. I will, however, be happy to entertain any discussion.”

  A bespectacled, lanky, dark-skinned young man in the center of the auditorium rose with a flourish. “Sir, my name is Jaime Leal. I’m president of the student body. May I say something?” The boy spoke with a confident voice. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “In view of the real threat posed to the people of CSUCI by the DNA research going on here, as representative of the students at CSUCI, I urge that all experiments with recombinant DNA at the university be stopped.” The young man nodded to the applause from the audience and seated himself.

  “Thank you, Mr. Leal,” said Stanaland. Noah turned and recognized the lad, whose picture frequently appeared in The CI View. “In order to ban such research, I think it would require an action by the president of the university or by the trustees or the chancellor.”

  There were a few shouts: “Stop the research!” It became a chant: “Stop the research! Stop the research!”

  After Stanaland had again brought order to the hall, Andrea Vernon spoke up. “I’d like to offer a proposal. Instead of a total ban on Dr. Chamberlin’s research, why don’t we impose a temporary ban, a moratorium, for two or three months, during which we can investigate the risks more fully? We could form an investigative committee composed of students, faculty, and one or two citizens from the community and direct that the committee report in three months with a recommendation whether to ban the research permanently or let it proceed.”

  Noah was shocked. How could Andrea, with whom he thought he had a cordial, professional relationship, suggest banning his research? Anneke shrugged her shoulders and nodded her assent.

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Stanaland declared. “And I have a suggestion for a member of the proposed committee. Mr. Orgell, the science teacher, seems to know a lot about the subject. How about it, Mr. Orgell?”

  “I’d be honored, sir,” replied the teacher.

  “Will you agree to abstain from doing experiments for three months, Dr. Chamberlin?” Noah caught Stanaland’s determined gaze.

  Noah was silent a moment. And then, his voice hoarse, he cried, “This is wrong. It’s unprecedented. How can you ask me to give in to mob rule? Yes,” he shouted, “I will stop my research, if you think it’s necessary. I’ll spend the time reading papers.”

  Stanaland addressed Anneke. “I trust you will consent to serve on the committee, Ms. Weiss.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied.

  “How about you, Mr. Leal, would you like to participate?” Stanaland motioned to the young man. The student body president said he would.

  A woman’s voice was heard. “I will volunteer.”

  “Who said that?” Stanaland peered about the hall.

  “I did,” replied Vera Barnett, the veterinarian.

  “Thank you, Dr. Barnett. How about one more volunteer for a fifth committee member?”

  A dark-skinned, gray-haired fellow stood up. “I’ll volunteer,” he said. “I have a cat of my own and see the merits of both sides on this issue.”

  “What is your name, sir?” asked Stanaland.

  “Yousef Yazdani,” replied the middle-aged man.

  “Thank you Mr. Yazdani. Well, that should do it. We have two students and three people from the community. I suggest that we plan to meet again in about three months for the committee’s findings.”

  Demoralized, Noah strode out of the assembly hall, carrying George the cat. There was now silence. Nobody said a word for several minutes. And finally, like a wave at a football game, a quiet buzz began to progress throughout the audience.

  Beth Murphy operated a cattery in Coos Bay, Oregon. Over three decades, she had raised hundreds of purebred varieties of Siamese, Russian Blue, Persians and others. She kept all the important legal documents, pedigree papers, and such in a tempered steel safe in her office.

  Beth, with two charming tiny kittens in her lap, chatted with Mr. and Mrs. Cozzens, a couple seeking a Maine Coon purebred.

  “These two are just weaned,” Beth said. “One’s a male, the other female. If you can wait a week, that’ll give me time to remove them from their mother and make sure they have all the required shots. You have your choice of either one.”

  While she explained the details, a Manx kitten wandering the compound entered the office and headed directly for the open safe, where she promptly lay down on a stack of papers and fell asleep. Neither Beth nor the couple saw it.

  “Well, that’s it then,” said Mr. Cozzens. “We have a deal. We’ll be back in a few days to pick up Mac.”

  “Oh, you’ve already picked a name!”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Cozzens, “Mac the Maine Coon.”

  Beth smiled. “Perfect. Phone before you come; I’ll have him ready.”

  After the couple left, Beth turned and noticed the open safe. “Damn.!” She shut and locked the door, not noticing the feline occupant.

  As Beth prepared to leave the cattery for the day, an attendant came running down the hall. “Beth! Beth! Have you seen a kitten running loose?”

  “I just put two Maine Coons back with their mama, but I haven’t seen any escaped kittens. What breed?”

  “Manx. We can’t find one of the three kittens.”

  “Take it easy, Kim. Kittens get loose all the time. She’ll show up.”

  “It’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving until I find it.”

  “All right. I’ll help you. Where did you see her last?”

  “Him. It’s a male. I saw him right outside your office.”

  “Really? Then let’s search my office.”

  A half hour later they had gone over every square inch of the room twice. Kim was exhausted. She sat down in a chair by the safe.

  “Let’s go home,” said Beth. We should leave it until tomorrow. The cat will get hungry and thirsty, and he’ll damn sure let us know where he is.”

  Kim shrugged. “Wait! What was that?”

  “I said, let’s …”

  “No. Listen!”

  Beth, across the room, heard nothing.

  Kim craned her neck and leaned toward the safe. The mewling got louder. “Open the safe!”

  “What?” Beth paused. “You think …” She ran over to the steel box and carefully twiddled the dial back and f
orth a few times. She turned the handle, and it opened. The mewling was now very loud. Beth reached in and grabbed the tiny ball of fur, who was none the worse for the experience.

  Kim stated the obvious. “If that kitten had stayed in the safe overnight, he would have run out of air and died.”

  4

  October 2019

  1,099,800,000

  Noah sat at his desk staring at, but not seeing the computer screen. Ostensibly, he was checking websites of scientific supply houses, evaluating equipment for the lab. Dr. Stanaland had encouraged him to do so, pointing out that, even if recombinant DNA research were banned permanently, the lab could be used for other types of biochemical research. That declaration hardly made Noah a happy man. This is scut work, he thought. Anyone could do it … I don’t even have Alicia here to help.

  He got up and paced around his office. I just want to get on with the research, damn it. I could sneak in some simple experiment … no one’s looking over my shoulder … no, I can’t do that. I can’t break my wo … they didn’t tell me I couldn’t think.

  It was time for his one o’clock lecture. He grabbed his notes and headed over to the classroom. When the period was over, Noah didn’t wait to answer the many student questions; he was aware that the lecture had not been one of his better ones, and he didn’t want to stay around, so he gathered up his notes and stomped out of the room. Glancing back, he noticed several students, open-mouthed, staring at him. Head down, he made for his office. I’ve got to do better than that … I can’t let my problems out on my students.

  A female voice interrupted his introspection. “Dr. Chamberlin.” Noah looked up. It was Anneke Weiss. “Do you have a minute?” she said.