text: Jane arrived, just as a nurse was taking Lilith from Vera after a feeding. "Wait," said Jane. "May I see the baby?"
  
  "Why, of course," answered the nurse, uncovering Lilith's face.
  
  "She's got Dr. Chamberlin's dark hair," Jane noted good-naturedly, "but your face, Vera."
  
  "Yes, she's got the Barnett high cheekbones. With the black hair, she looks Asian, doesn't she?"
  
  "Uh huh, I see that. Are you sure Noah's the father?" Jane teased.
  
  "Keep that up, and you'll be out of a job," Vera responded with humor.
  
  "Where's Dr. Chamberlin?"
  
  "He went out for a bite in the hospital cafeteria."
  
  Jane pulled up a chair by the bed. "Do you remember Anneke Weiss, the computer science major? She was involved with those demonstrations against Dr. Chamberlin's research a couple of years ago."
  
  "Of course I do," Vera answered. "How could I forget her? Why?"
  
  "I had lunch with her today and told her of your idea to locate feral cats. It turns out that Anneke is a member of a feral-cat rescue group. She's going to try to get such groups to help with locating cats."
  
  "That's wonderful, Jane, just wonderful! Thank you so much. And please thank Anneke for me. I was aware of the feral-cat organizations and was planning to contact some of them after Lilith was born. Of course, we'll be looking for cats that haven't had human contact or association with domestic cats."
  
  "Yes, I discussed that with Anneke. She understands and will emphasize the fact when she contacts the members. When you're up to it, Anneke wants to talk with you about how to proceed further."
  
  For her part, Anneke sent e-mails to feral-cat activists on her mailing list, one hundred twenty-three in all. She explained the new strategy and wrote that the scientists sought feral cats that had never had contact FHF virus. Anneke suggested looking for cat colonies in out-of-the-way places, away from human habitations. She made it clear that no one was to approach the cats, let alone try to capture them. It was essential that the animals not have any exposure to FHF.
  
  The next day, replies were arriving in Anneke's inbox by the hundreds. She read each one and prepared a table that listed locations, number of cats in the colony, and any remarks offered by the sender.
  
  Her mail described feral-cat colonies all over the planet. Some flourished on farmland in the central United States and Canada, some on islands in the Great Lakes. There were ferals throughout Australia and on many of its islands. Others nested in the foothills of the Alps, on uninhabited islands in the Pacific, on Catalina Island off the Southern California coast, and on the fringes of the Gobi Desert. Many of the communications mentioned feral-cat populations that clearly had had human or other feline contact, such as the wild cats inhabiting the London Dockyards in the UK. However, most of those populations had already succumbed to FHF. Anneke did not include the survivors in her catalog, because the cats were likely already infected with the virus. Not all of the e-mail was supportive. A man in Toronto knew of several feral-cat colonies in rural areas of Ontario but had no intention of telling the world where they were. He didn't want to have them exposed to FHF.
  
  "I'd like to hire a nanny," Vera declared. "I've got to get started locating cats for our test. I need someone to take on as much of Lilith's care as possible."
  
  "I'll be here," said Noah. "Not to worry."
  
  "No, I want to hire a nanny, Noah. We can afford it."
  
  Doris, a nanny-cum-housekeeper, arrived a few days later. Finally, I can relax, Vera thought. Jane's looking after the clinic business. Kal can handle any emergencies... "I'm going to take a nap," she said to Doris.
  
  "You go right ahead, ma'am; Lilith will be fine."
  
  Vera was awakened by the ring of her phone; it was Jane informing the vet that Anneke wanted to discuss her search for feral cat populations. "Sure, tell her to come over," Vera replied. "I want to keep the momentum. Every day, more cats are dying."
  
  Anneke arrived late that afternoon and showed Vera the list she had compiled, now displaying 237 annotated entries. "That's just wonderful!" cried the vet.
  
  Lilith was so startled by the outburst that she separated herself from her source of nourishment and began to cry loudly. "Oops," Vera said. "I guess I need to keep my emotions under control." She quickly quieted the infant, and Lilith resumed nursing. The two women went over the list and highlighted the most promising colonies. Vera shook her head with concern. "Now we have to find a way to capture cats without contaminating them, and we need to set up a lab where we can house cats and perform the surgery. I don't see how we're going to accomplish all that." She put her head in her hands. "And the money. My God! This is going to cost a fortune."
  
  "You know, don't you," offered Anneke, "there are thousands of people who would contribute money to bring the cats back." Vera raised her head and stared open-mouthed at the young woman. "That's right," continued Anneke, "there are already several charities collecting donations for cats. Perhaps you could start one too."
  
  Vera rose, set Lilith down and hugged Anneke. "You are so helpful, I..."
  
  Money... it's always about money. She phoned her accountant who, when he learned of the new baby, agreed to come out to the house that evening.
  
  Lyle Kane, rosy-cheeked and plump, toted a laptop in one hand and an attaché case in the other. Vera welcomed him in.
  
  "I've got Form 1023 right here," said Kane. "I'll enter the information while we talk. By the time I leave, it'll be ready to print out. Let's start with the name of the charity. What do you want to call it?"
  
  Vera pondered a moment. "How about 'Feline Phoenix'?"
  
  Kane nodded. "Sounds good. It's easy on the ear. But the phoenix is a bird, isn't it?"
  
  "Yes, but it's a symbol of resurrection. It's appropriate."
  
  "So be it. Feline Phoenix it is."
  
  "You'll need a board of directors. Have you given that any thought?"
  
  Vera shook her head. "Oh, heavens! I really don't want to be bothered with that stuff."
  
  "Look, Vera, that's part of the process of establishing a nonprofit. Can't you get some of your friends involved? Then you can get them to prepare bylaws and choose officers. Think about it. If there weren't standards, anyone could declare themselves a tax-free corporation. Fraud would be rampant."
  
  "Yes, I guess you're right."
  
  "Will Feline Phoenix pass funds or services to any other organizations?"
  
  Vera shrugged. "What kind of organizations?"
  
  "Other charities, vet schools... think a moment."
  
  "Oh. I could do that?"
  
  "Sure," Kane replied, "as long as such organizations advance your stated purpose."
  
  "Even an entity of the federal government?"
  
  Kane frowned. "For example..."
  
  "Don't laugh," Vera replied, "but I was thinking the CDC, should they get involved."
  
  It took Kane only an hour to gather the information. "I'll have my secretary prepare the necessary papers. You should be good to go by Thursday."
  
  When Angelo returned to Atlanta from his latest investigative trek, Dorothy told him of the new baby. She popped open her phone. "Marveloose!" he exclaimed when she displayed the photos. "Are mother and daughter both well?"
  
  "Yes, they're doing fine." She told him of the plan to save the domestic cat and mentioned her donation to the effort.
  
  "That's convincing," said Angelo. "Do you know what they have in mind?"
  
  "Not really. Vera said that it wasn't a vaccine, and that it had to do with injecting something into eggs."
  
  Angelo frowned. "Perhaps they are growing a virus in chicken eggs."
  
  "No, I think she was talking about cat eggs."
  
  Angelo laughed. "Cats don't lay... oh." He raised his eyebrows. "I think I'll give Dr. Chamberlin a phone call."
  
  Ten minutes later, after Angelo and Noah had exchanged amenities, Angelo said, "I hear that you have a new theory for treating the FHF virus. Is that right?"
  
  "Wow! Word travels fast. Oh, you heard about it from Mrs. Kraakmo. I understand that she's going to contribute money for the experiment."
  
  "Absolut. So you are calling it an experiment. That is the proper way for a scientist to approach the question. Would you mind telling me the plan?"
  
  "Of course," replied Noah. He proceeded to describe in some detail the idea to use FeLV as a vector for carrying interfering FHF RNA genes.
  
  "That is quite a clever plan, especially the idea to inject the vector into fertilized eggs."
  
  "That's Vera's suggestion," Noah stated with pride. "In fact, she has some experience with injecting into fertilized eggs, and we plan to have her carry out that step."
  
  "That's convincing... There is the matter of finding uncontaminated cats to experiment with, however."
  
  "Yes, that is a hurdle. Vera is thinking of looking for feral cats in out-of-the-way places."
  
  "Feral? That means wild, yes?"
  
  "That's right. Feral cats are cats that once belonged to someone and have either run away or been abandoned, or which have been born in the wild and never been domesticated."
  
  Angelo was silent a moment. "But how will you capture these feral cats if you find them? Unless precautions are taken, they will immediately become exposed to FHF carried by the capturers."
  
  "Right. I don't think our planning has gotten that far. We do have a place here in the BSL-3 lab where we can house them and keep them free from contamination."
  
  "Hmmm. Uh, Noah, I'd like you to take your time on that part of the planning. I will have a talk with Dr. Bronkowski. Maybe I can get him to help with trained personnel."
  
  "Sure. That's great! I'll tell Vera you called."
  
  "Good. Please relay my congratulations to Dr. Barnett."
  
  "Angelo! Her name is Vera!"
  
  "Aha. Of course. Tell her I send my best wishes. I will talk to you again soon."
  
  Although Bronkowski had enormous respect for Angelo's investigative acumen, he was ever wary of the star epidemiologist's manipulative ways, and was apprehensive when Angelo asked to speak with him.
  
  "I have a request," Angelo said as he breezed into the chief's office. He was never one to waste time with small talk.
  
  "I'm sure you do," responded Bronkowski.
  
  "You don't have to be so hostile."
  
  "Well, what is it, Angelo?"
  
  "It's about the cats..."
  
  Bronkowski interrupted, "Come on, Angelo. You know we exhausted all the funds for such projects. If the cats are to be saved, funding will have to come from the private sector."
  
  "I didn't come here to ask for money... well, not really. Do you remember Noah Chamberlin, the molecular biologist?"
  
  "Yes, of course," Bronkowski replied warily. "What about him?"
  
  "He has a new idea for protecting cats against FHF virus. He and his wife, the veterinarian, have what I think is a sound approach." Angelo described the plan.
  
  "That does sound like a plausible attack," admitted Bronkowski, "but, as I said, we have no money."
  
  "No, we don't," said Angelo, "but we do have personnel." Before Bronkowski could interrupt, Angelo drove on. "Chamberlin's plan requires cats that haven't had contact with the virus. Dr. Barnett believes such cats might be found among feral populations. The problem is that the very act of capturing the cats is apt to infect them. That's where the CDC could help. We have trained field workers who could wear sterilized jumpsuits to keep from exposing the cats to the virus. They could spray the cats with disinfectant and transport them in disinfected cages to the labs where the procedures are to be performed."
  
  Bronkowski frowned. "It's not like supplying personnel and equipment wouldn't cost anything, you know."
  
  "True, but it would not require any new money. It could be funded by the present budget."
  
  Bronkowski put his head in his hands and remained that way, mumbling to himself for over a minute. Angelo remained silent. Finally, Bronkowski raised his head and said, hoarsely, "Okay, I'll arrange it. Perhaps, if the plan actually works, we'll get some good PR out of the effort."
  
  Angelo fired off a flurry of e-mails. First, he sent a message to Noah informing him that the CDC would be assisting with locating and capturing FHF-free feral cats. Next, he contacted his friend André Fidèle, the team leader for France's effort to preserve Felis catus at Paris's Pasteur Institute. He apprised the Frenchman of the plan and urged Fidèle to have the institute prepare a clean facility where feral cats could be isolated from the virus.
  
  Fidèle replied within the hour, noting that he and his colleagues were excited by the news and that they were already preparing their BSL-3 labs to house and operate on any FHF-free cats they could find. He requested details of the surgical procedure to be carried out on the cats.
  
  After returning home, Anneke assembled a set of instructions she downloaded from several websites for capturing feral cats. This is a waste of time; nobody's going to read it. She described so-called "live traps" available from several vendors. These were small, metal cages that allowed the cats to be captured without harming them. She advised setting them at night when cats were likely to feed. Newspaper was to be placed on the bottom of the cages to absorb waste and to allow the cats a surface on which to rest. It was important not to use too much newspaper, as it could interfere with the trap mechanism. Canned mackerel was an effective bait and should be placed at the back of the trap so the cat wouldn't get hurt when door of the trap closes. She suggested that trappers conceal the trapdoor with a towel. After ferals are caught, they should be fed and watered as needed.
  
  Anneke printed her cat-trapping manual and read it over. Not satisfied, she made a number of changes. Perfectionist that she was, Anneke prepared four drafts before she was pleased with the text.
  
  The next day, Jane accompanied Anneke to Vera's clinic.
  
  "I think you're amazing," Anneke remarked. "You just had a baby, and you're back at work already."
  
  "Just a few hours a day, for now. I understand you've prepared some instructions for trapping feral cats." Anneke handed Vera the trapping procedure. Vera examined it in silence, nodding from time to time. "This is terrific, Anneke. I'll fax it over to the CDC, along with the list of likely locations of feral cats you gave me the other day."
  
  "The CDC! How did they get involved?" After Vera filled her in, Anneke said, "I never met the Kraakmo guy, but I know of him. He's the scientist who discovered that FHF started in a Seattle zoo, right?"
  
  "That's right, and now he's helping with the search for ferals. It's a team effort. There are the trappers from the CDC, and Noah and Gary, who are synthesizing the vector to inject into cat's ova. Mrs. Kraakmo is paying for some specialized equipment—it's all going to take a lot of money. I've formed a non-profit corporation I call the Feline Phoenix to receive donations."
  
  Jane added, "Dr. Barnett is going to remove fertilized eggs from female cats and inject the stuff that Gary and Dr. Chamberlin are making."
  
  "Yes," Vera acknowledged, "and let's not forget you, Anneke. The research you've done to identify likely feral-cat locations will prove invaluable, as will the instructions for trapping."
  
  "Thanks, Vera. I'm glad to be of help." Anneke was pensive for a moment. "I guess I owe Dr. Chamberlin an apology. I used to think that his experimenting on cats had no justification. Now I..."
  
  Vera gently placed her hands on Anneke's shoulders. "Thank you. Noah will appreciate that."
  
  Anneke made ready to leave. "Say, Vera, I'm interested in this Feline Phoenix. Is it already functioning?"
  
  "It will be in a few days."
  
  "You know, I belong to several animal-rights groups that have been taking donations for the cats, but they don't know how to put the money to work. I think it would be great if they simply turned it over to you. This vector thing you and Dr. Chamberlin are doing may be the last chance the cats have. I'll contact the groups. What should I give as the address of Feline Phoenix?"
  
  Vera was speechless.
  
  By mid-July, three specially equipped vans were ready to depart from the CDC for areas Anneke Weiss had pegged as possible sites of FHF-free feral cats. The first three were an abandoned farmstead in Nebraska, the outskirts of a town called Wheatland on the Platte River in Wyoming, and several abandoned farms in California's San Joaquin Valley, near Fairmead. The vans, each with two technicians, set out caravan style from Atlanta.
  
  One van parted from the others at Nashville and headed for California on I-40. The other two continued north toward Nebraska and Wyoming.
  
  Richard Sitwell, a veteran CDC tech, woke from a short nap. "I don't know why they didn't just send a van from a California office," he remarked.
  
  "C'mon, Rick," replied Sanjay Singh. "Look behind you. These three cat vans are unique."
  
  "Right." Sitwell shrugged. He glanced at a GPS map. "Hey, you want to spend a couple of hours in Vegas?"
  
  "Nah," answered Singh. "I don't gamble. It's a no-no in my religion."
  
  Sitwell looked over at his partner but kept his tongue.
  
  After three hours, Singh said, "You ready to spell me? I'm getting sleepy."
  
  "Sure. Pull out at the next rest stop. Shall we stop for the night or head straight through?"
  
  "As long as one of us can drive, I'd like to get to California as soon as possible. The sooner we fill this crate with cats, the sooner we can get back home."
  
  Sitwell frowned. "That's three days of driving."
  
  "Yeah, I guess that is a bit much," acknowledged Singh. "Let's stop in Oklahoma City for the night."
  
  "Can you imagine this trip without air conditioning?" Sitwell asked rhetorically as the van sped across the Mojave Desert.
  
  "You're such a wimp," replied Singh. "At least it's not humid, like Atlanta."
  
  "Hey! Highway 58 coming up."
  
  "Right. Then we hit the 99 at Bakersfield."
  
  The van arrived at Fairmead at two in the afternoon.
  
  The techs had been given approximate locations of the farms and had no trouble locating the first one. They got out of the van and donned disposable sterile outfits, consisting of reinforced paper jumpsuits, masks, goggles, disposable booties over their shoes, and latex gloves.
  
  "Let's look in there first," Sitwell said, pointing to a decaying two-story farmhouse, its once-white clapboard siding now mostly gray. The front door swayed on one hinge. The techs pushed it aside and went in.
  
  "Look," said Singh, "there's still furniture here. I figured the place would be empty."
  
  "Maybe the people left in a hurry," Sitwell offered.
  
  Singh frowned. "Or someone died... The carpet seems to be in good shape." He walked over to a wall where a group picture was hanging. "This must be the family that lived here," he observed. "I'll look around down here. You take the upstairs. Watch out for those stairs. They don't look very secure."
  
  "Yeah. I take the risks, and you get the cushy jobs," Sitwell answered good-naturedly. Although there were a few loose boards, Sitwell negotiated the stairs without mishap. He went from room to room, shining his LED flashlight into every corner. This must have been one grand mansion in its day, he mused, noting that there were four bedrooms upstairs and a huge living room below. Mounds of termite dross were everywhere. Sitwell gingerly stepped over clumps of plaster fallen from the ceiling.
  
  Downstairs, Singh was equally thorough. He even descended rickety steps to a large cellar. He noted plenty of spiders and old mouse droppings, but no cats. After examining every part of the house, they had found no evidence suggesting any feral cats were in the dwelling.
  
  "Let's try the barn," Sitwell suggested.
  
  The huge doors of the once-red barn lay on the ground, their hinges long since rusted away. Inside, the two men spied an old horse bridle hanging on a nail. Singh ran his hand over the leather straps, but it crumbled when touched. The roof was missing several boards, allowing rectangular beams of sunlight to penetrate.
  
  "Look over there," said Singh.
  
  Sitwell looked in the direction indicated by his colleague. "Aahh," he said. "We've come to the right place." At the end of the barn away from the main entrance, he made out scattered bird feathers and rodent bones. "Those tamped-down areas look like they might be birthing nests," he said.
  
  Singh whispered, "Rick! Here."
  
  Sitwell's gaze followed Singh's pointing finger. There, in the dark corner, he spied a mound of sleeping kittens—no mother cat. "Looks like three or four," he said, softly. "Can't be more than a week old."
  
  Singh nodded. "Let's get out of here."
  
  Back at the van, the men agreed to wait until nightfall. Singh read a magazine. Sitwell perused Anneke's trapping guide on his PDA. Sitwell grunted, "Hmmmph."
  
  "What?"
  
  "Says here that we should put some closed traps in places where the cats are likely to pass and then wait a few days."
  
  "Yeah," Singh said, "I remember. We're supposed to let the cats get used to the cages for several days before we set the traps."
  
  "It doesn't say if we should put bait in the traps during the wait."
  
  Singh eyed the page. "No, but the woman's cell number is right there. Why don't you phone her?"
  
  "Right." Sitwell tapped the phone number. "This is Rick Sitwell with the CDC," he said. "I'm calling from central California. My colleague and I have located some feral cats at a site on your list..."
  
  "CDC?" Anneke interrupted. "You're calling from the CDC? You're actually using the list?"
  
  Sitwell laughed at her reaction. "Isn't that why you collected the information?" He asked.
  
  "Well, yes, of course... I... I'm really glad that it's helping."
  
  "And, no," Sitwell added, "we work for the CDC. We're calling from an abandoned farm near Madera." He explained that two other groups were heading for areas on Anneke's list. He heard sobs. "Are you okay?"
  
  "Yes, I'm fine. It's just that nobody told me that you guys were actually using the list."
  
  Sitwell said, "Then I'm happy to be the one to tell you. I have a question about the trapping guide..."
  
  "You're using the guide too? Oh my God!"
  
  Singh shook his head. Sitwell shrugged. "Isn't that why you prepared it? To assist us with finding and trapping feral cats?"
  
  "Yes, of course! Yes!"
  
  "I've got to tell you it's well-written. I've read manuals written by CDC professionals that aren't as clear."
  
  "Thank you. Oh, thank you—so, what's your question?" she asked between sobs.
  
  "As I said, we found a litter of newborn kittens. Haven't seen the mother yet."
  
  "You didn't touch the kittens, did you?" Sitwell sensed that she was now all business. "If you handle the kittens, the mother might abandon them... what's your question again?"
  
  Sitwell rolled his eyes. "We plan to set up trapping cages without setting them, as directed in the guide. Should we place bait in the trap?"
  
  "I left that out? I'm really sorry. Yes. Absolutely. Put a small amount of mackerel near the cage. It doesn't even have to be inside."
  
  "Got it. Thanks for the info. I'll pass it on to the other groups."
  
  After they positioned the traps, the two techs drove into Madera to grab a meal and secure a motel room.
  
  On Saturday, the techs drove back to the farm from Madera and, after sunset, laid sterile absorbent paper in the bottoms of the traps and a chunk of canned mackerel at the back. After propping up each trap's door, they placed a sterile towel over the trap, leaving just the opening uncovered. Again, they drove back to town.
  
  When they returned the next day, two of the traps held hissing, spitting, angry felines. The techs lugged them to the van, where they sprayed the cages and their furious occupants with a disinfectant known to kill all bacteria and viruses. This, of course, enraged the cats even more.
  
  "My God," said Singh, "I'd hate to meet up with one of those in a dark alley in the middle of the night."
  
  "Yeah," answered Sitwell, "I see why some people hate cats."
  
  The van had been outfitted with a total of twelve enclosures, six on each side. Each of these boxes was separated from those adjacent by a plastic barrier. When the cage door was shut, the interior was effectively sealed off from the cab of the van. A closed, forced-air blower, powered by the van's electrical system, provided ventilation. The air passed through two HEPA filters before it reached the cat boxes.
  
  After a half-hour, Sitwell said, "That's long enough. There can't be any infectious virus particles left on the fur." They held each of the traps in its turn up to the door of a cage and pulled up the trap's door. Singh prodded the snarling animals with a sterile stick, forcing them out of the traps and into the boxes.
  
  That night, Singh and Sitwell disinfected the traps and reset them. The next day three more trapped ferals had been caught. By Tuesday, the van had its full complement of twelve. Sitwell and Singh prepared to head for Camarillo with their feline cargo.
  
  Singh asked, "What about those kittens in the barn?"
  
  "Oh shit! I forgot about them," said Sitwell. "They're probably dead already. Without milk from the mother, they can't last long."
  
  "Let's go check," Singh suggested.
  
  When they entered the barn, Singh was the first to see the queen with her litter. "Look, over there. Looks like Mama escaped our traps." The mother cat growled and hissed at the intruders, her hair standing up and ears flattened.
  
  Sitwell started walking backward. "I think we'll just leave her and her family alone," he suggested.
  
  "Right. Let's get out of here!" They turned and tore out of the barn.
  
  Shortly, the van was headed to Camarillo. As they already had filled their cages, the two technicians would not need to visit the other two abandoned farms. Perhaps they would on another trip. The two other vans were en route back to the CDC with twenty-two ferals—just two shy of their full complement.