text: In zoos across the USA, many species of felines were becoming ill with a FHF-like disease, but rarely did they succumb. The larger cats—pumas, leopards, lions, and the like—seemed to have a much greater resistance to the virus than domestic cats. There was no question that the bigger cats were, in fact, infected with FHF. The CDC had demonstrated that by isolating the virus from the animals.
  
  At the Toronto Zoo, a baboon named Tarzan showed symptoms of hemorrhagic fever. Aware of the possibility of Ebola, Ian Beswick, the primate-keeper, immediately quarantined the animal by placing it in a cage within a larger cage. He put up cautionary warnings to alert the other keepers that the primate should not be handled. When Tarzan died, the corpse was autopsied. The organs displayed evidence of severe hemorrhaging. Blood and tissue samples were tested for Ebola, but the results were equivocal. Beswick, who had been avidly following the news about FHF, sent samples to the CDC in the States to have them tested. The results were positive. It was now clear that primates could acquire FHF.
  
  It had been over three months since Angelo Kraakmo had described FHF to the public on Rita Kenyon's talk show. At that time Scheherazade, Kenyon's Persian, had been in good health. In the months that followed, Kenyon had taken pains to keep her feline friend indoors at all times. She made a ritual of washing her hands before preparing the cat's meals and showered several times a day to wash away any of the virus she might have brought in. Kenyon also sent her clothes to the laundry much more frequently than she had before FHF. She was determined that Scheherazade was not going to become another victim.
  
  Kenyon no longer welcomed her many male friends to her apartment. Instead she either accompanied them to their homes, or they met in hotels. When she explained to them why, most accepted her reason—although a few thought she was a bit eccentric.
  
  One night, an obstreperous fellow named Jason, whom she had been dating for a few months, remarked, "You're loony, Rita. It's just a cat, for God's sake." Jason slept alone that night; Kenyon told him to take her home and never to call her again.
  
  All these precautions notwithstanding, it was evident to Kenyon that her beloved companion had now become quite ill. It started without warning; the once-beautiful white Persian had become disheveled. She was no longer grooming herself and had lost her appetite. Rita sat on a sofa, the cat on her lap, and gently stroked the animal. She was too smart to deceive herself, and she realized that she was about to lose her friend. Most who knew her thought her stone-hearted. Certainly, that was the image she projected on television. Now she cried openly. Would she have done so if others had been present? Who knows?
  
  Scheherazade died during the night. The next day Rita Kenyon drove to the studio as usual, assuming the persona that was expected of her.