text: On a Thursday morning near the end of June, Angelo arrived at Bronkowski's office, ostensibly to discuss the progress of the FHF research at the CDC. He had a second motive—to wangle another trip to Camarillo.
  
  "Good morning," Angelo said.
  
  "An arguable observation," said Bronkowski without looking up. "Zero progress. That's what we've made with the FHF antigen. Zero. Zilch. Zip. Did you see the paper this morning? Look!" He turned his laptop around so Angelo could see. "Twenty-two percent. It's on the front page. They're estimating that 22 percent of the domestic cats in the US have died of FHF, and 4 percent in Europe, 11 percent in Mexico, 5 percent in South America. I see, also, that the Russians have announced that they're beginning an all-out program to develop an immunizing antigen. So now it's us, the French, and the Russians." He looked Angelo in the eye. "Angelo, I don't know where we go from here. Our lab people have reached a dead end."
  
  "I know. That is why I am here," Angelo replied. "I have an idea."
  
  Bronkowski looked up. "So?"
  
  "I would like to get Chamberlin to work on the project."
  
  "Chamberlin? That molecular biologist in California?"
  
  "Yes. I think he is one sharp fellow. He has a laboratory setup ideally suited for the work. His lab has state-of-the-art cell-culture facilities, and he is experienced with virus techniques."
  
  Bronkowski scowled at Angelo for several seconds. The frown changed to an expression of inquisitiveness. "Go on."
  
  "I suspect maybe Chamberlin could find a way to culture the FHF virus or perhaps clone its RNA. I would like to fly to Camarillo to discuss it with him."
  
  "You want to go back to Camarillo? Oh hell, Angelo, you just want to see your woman. When are you two getting married, anyway?"
  
  "Soon. When Dorothy sells her house, she will move to Atlanta, and we will get married. And yes, of course I want to visit her, but I have a sound reason for going there."
  
  Bronkowski chewed on a pencil for a long moment. "Why Chamberlin? Why not some of the people at NIH?"
  
  "Well, Chamberlin is not too busy now," Angelo explained, "because, without cats, his research is not progressing. If we can get him to work on FHF, we would be increasing, even if slightly, the possibility of a breakthrough."
  
  Bronkowski nodded. "Okay, go to Camarillo. I must be crazy to let you talk me into these jaunts."
  
  "Scandaloose," Angelo replied with humor.
  
  As Angelo drove to Camarillo from the airport, he pondered how much he had missed Dorothy. Amazing how much has changed in my life in only two months... and it's all because of cats.
  
  Dorothy was not in sight as he drove up, but, when he cut the motor, Angelo could hear the harpsichord. The front door was unlocked, and Angelo entered quietly. He stood listening for many minutes. Finally, in a soft voice, he said, "That is very nice; have you been playing long?"
  
  Dorothy froze and, recognizing the voice, turned. "Angelo! You scared me half to death!"
  
  "Scandaloose."
  
  "Oh, Angelo, I missed you so much." They held each other closely and kissed. Unable or unwilling to postpone his physical need, Angelo placed his hand on her breast. "Angelo, not now. Not in the middle of the day."
  
  "Why not? Is there a rule I should know about?" He continued stroking her. Dorothy finally responded and kissed him passionately; Angelo's call to Noah would have to wait.
  
  On that same day, Noah and Vera took in a movie. During the drive back to Noah's house—Vera was now practically living there—their conversation turned to the epizootic. "Did you hear that a panther at the San Diego Zoo has FHF?" Vera asked.
  
  "No. Look, could we talk about something else for a change?" The movie had been a depressing and violent one, putting Noah in a sour mood.
  
  "I'm sorry. I guess we do spend a lot of time talking about FHF."
  
  They drove in silence for a while. Noah finally said, "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired of FHF. FHF, FHF, FHF. That's all anyone hears about these days. You'd think the world was coming to an end."
  
  She turned to face Noah. "For Felis catus, it just may be."
  
  Noah glared at her. His gaze softened as he thought about what she'd said. As he pulled into the garage, he asked, "Do you really think the domestic cat could become extinct?"
  
  "Who can say? You know, don't you, that yesterday the EPA placed Felis catus on the endangered species list?"
  
  "I'll be dammed."
  
  At Noah's, they relaxed on the sofa. Vera nestled in his arms. Neither spoke for several minutes. Vera arched her head back so she could see Noah's face. "At the risk of putting you off again," she said, "do you mind if I bring up the subject of you-know-what?"
  
  "What?"
  
  "FHF," she whispered.
  
  "Oh, shit."
  
  "Sorry. Forget it."
  
  They sat in silence for a while—a silence Noah finally broke. "Well, what is it?"
  
  Vera pulled herself away and picked up her drink. She sipped the scotch, eyeing Noah over the glass. "Have you... Have you given any more thought to the FHF virus antigens?"
  
  Noah rose up from the couch. "No I have not. Why should I, Vera? I don't want to alter the subject of my research in mid-course. It is not efficient to keep changing projects."
  
  "Is that what this is about, efficiency?"
  
  "No, I didn't mean it that way."
  
  "Sure you did, Noah. That's all that matters to you, isn't it? Publish those papers. Win that Nobel Prize. To hell with the cats! What does it matter if one more species becomes extinct? It's ridiculous that you continue to study MEFA, a feline disease, while all the cats are dying off day by day."
  
  "Why me?" protested Noah. "There are dozens of capable scientists working on FHF right now. What makes you think that I would succeed where others have failed?"
  
  "Because you're good, Noah," Vera responded firmly. "Because you're considered by your colleagues to be one damned good molecular biologist. Maybe you won't succeed, but, if the cats disappear, how will you feel ten years from now? Will you be asking yourself, 'Could I have done something? Could I have saved the cats?'"
  
  "That, lady, is a cheap shot."
  
  "Yes, I suppose it is—" Vera's apology was interrupted by the chirrup of the telephone.
  
  Noah looked at the mantle clock. "Eleven o'clock. Who the hell is calling at this hour?" He grabbed his phone. "Hello, Noah Chamberlin speaking." Vera saw him start with surprise. Noah put his hand over the phone. "It's that epidemiologist, Angelo Kraakmo. He's in town and wants to have lunch with us tomorrow." Vera shrugged and nodded her okay.
  
  Angelo arrived at the café before Noah and Vera. I hate it when people come late, he thought, unmindful of the fact that he was several minutes early. When the couple did show up, on time, Angelo greeted them warmly.
  
  "Thank you for coming," he said. "Let's go inside."
  
  "Have you heard about the fleas?" asked Angelo, after they had settled into a booth.
  
  "What fleas?" asked Vera and Noah in unison.
  
  "In Los Angeles," Angelo replied, casually hiding his burrito under a dome of salsa. "The fleas are attacking people and dogs."
  
  "Cat fleas?" asked Vera.
  
  "Yes, all over the city. In fact all over Southern California. It's on The Los Angeles Times website."
  
  "I'm not surprised," said Vera, "Cat fleas aren't too particular anyway. Most of the fleas found on dogs are actually cat fleas, Ctenocephalides felis, even in normal times. Some flea species are particular about their hosts, but not cat fleas. If they can't find a cat, they go for what's available—dogs, humans, whatever. With the cat population so decimated, we can expect a pretty awful flea problem everywhere. It's strange that we are just hearing about it now. Oh, I know; it must be that the winter weather kept the fleas dormant. Now, with the temperatures warming up, I'm sure there will be more flea problems."
  
  "Oh, brother," muttered Noah.
  
  "I did not know that about cat fleas," said Angelo. "I guess that shows once and for all that I am not an epizoologist." He grinned. "I suppose you are wondering why I asked to meet with you today."
  
  Noah nodded.
  
  Angelo looked Noah in the eye. "I would like to know if you have thought any more about possibly working on the FHF problem."
  
  Noah stopped chewing and, mouth open, scowled at Angelo, and then at Vera. "Did you two cook this up together?"
  
  "Noah, I swear I had no inkling—" Vera began. She then stopped, and, like an opening fan, a grin spread over her face.
  
  "What's so damned funny?"
  
  "It's not funny at all," she countered, "ironic maybe, but not funny. It seems that I'm not the only one who believes you could make a contribution to the FHF problem."
  
  "Absolut!" said Angelo. "Am I to understand that you two have, ah, discussed the prospect of Noah working on the virus?"
  
  "Yes, we have," Noah responded, "and I have told Vera that I am not interested."
  
  "Scandaloose," said Angelo soberly. "Well, I am not one to try to pressure you into doing something you don't want to do."
  
  They ate in silence awhile before Angelo remarked, "I read in the paper yesterday that the Pope is holding a weekly cat-blessing in the piazza of San Pietro."
  
  "Why are you telling us this?" Noah asked sharply.
  
  "Just making conversation," replied Angelo innocently.
  
  "There must be something else that three intelligent people can find to discuss besides FHF and cats."
  
  "No, Noah," Vera said. "These days intelligent, caring people can talk of little else."
  
  "That is correct," agreed Angelo. "Perhaps, Noah, you underestimate the magnitude of the disaster. Do you think it is just cats that are affected? Man has been living with cats for at least ten thousand years, you know. Do you think that such a stable, intimate association can be broken quickly without having a major effect on mankind? Homo sapiens does not live in isolation. We say that no man is an island, yes? But no species is either. We humans depend on our cattle, our pigs, fowl, and yes, on our cats and dogs. And I say this even though I do not care for cats." As he spoke, Angelo's voice rose in pitch and volume.
  
  Noah glared at Angelo. "I'm sure glad you are not one to try to pressure me into doing something I don't want to do," he grumbled. Noah rose and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving Angelo and Vera staring at each other in astonishment.
  
  At the institute, Noah stared at the vinyl tiles of the elevator floor. Everybody I'm close to is pressuring me to work on FHF. Why don't they mind their own business? When the elevator stopped at the fourth floor Noah headed for his office. I wonder if, somehow... What could I do, anyway? Noah was halfway down the corridor before he looked up and realized he had gotten out on the wrong floor. He threw up his hands and moaned under his breath.
  
  When he finally arrived at his office, Gary was waiting. "Doc, I've got some news."
  
  Noah looked up questioningly. "Yeah, what is it?"
  
  "Guess who's making alpha-globin RNA?"
  
  Noah's eyes widened. "You don't mean E. coli WC1953?"
  
  "Yep. No doubt about it. It hybridizes quantitatively with alpha-globin DNA."
  
  "So that altered promoter was the key."
  
  "Yes. We're on track now. Tomorrow I'm going to try inserting the RNA into the FeSV chromosome."
  
  Noah stared at the enthusiastic, bespectacled youth. "Gary, sit down a moment. Let's talk." Gary deposited his lanky frame in a chair too small and regarded Noah expectantly. Noah pursed his lips. "Gary, what are you going to do with the FeSV once you get the globin RNA integrated?"
  
  Gary shrugged. "You mean what will I do if there are no cats to test it on?"
  
  Noah nodded.
  
  "I don't know. I've been proceeding one step at a time."
  
  "You know," Noah commented, "one mark of a good scientist is to look forward. Good science is like good chess. You've got to look beyond the next move to the next and the next."
  
  "Hell, what can I do about FHF? That's way outside my field."
  
  Noah said nothing for a moment. "Maybe not. Maybe the two of us could do something. You know that epidemiologist, Kraakmo, is in town. He came to ask me to work on FHF."
  
  "Really! But, Doc, you're not a vet."
  
  "No, but I think the disease might be attacked with the help of the techniques and concepts we've been using with MEFA."
  
  "Where do I come in?" asked Gary.
  
  "I don't know. I'm not even sure that I should start on FHF. But if I do, I may ask for your help from time to time. For now, go ahead and continue with the MEFA project. If you have to stop, you can work on your thesis—at least up to the work you've completed."
  
  Gary grinned. "Doc, you've made up your mind, haven't you? You're going tackle FHF."
  
  Noah displayed a worried smile. "God help me. I guess I am."