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cabinet. Vera heard the sound of a motor starting up and the steady whoosh of air flowing. “Air is forced down across the opening in the front,” Noah continued, “then through the grill at the bottom. Any particles from the inside or outside are dragged by the airflow into the grill where they’re trapped by the HEPA filter. That not only keeps anything suspended in the inside air from getting out, but also keeps outside microbes from getting in and contaminating the work being done inside.”
    There sure are quite a few safety precautions, Vera thought.
    They went into the cat room, and Noah pointed out that the only entrance was through the laboratory. Even here, Vera noted, although the room was permeated by a faint odor of urine and feces, the stainless steel cages were spotless. Norman Orgell asked how many cats were kept in the room. “We have a capacity for fifty animals,” Noah replied, “but right now we only have nine—two normals and seven with MEFA.”
    “Oh!” said Yazdani. “We won’t catch it, will we?”
    “No, no, not at all. MEFA is in no way contagious to humans—or even to other cats.”
    Vera walked over to the cages housing the ill animals. “Did you have any difficulty in getting a license to use domestic cats?” she asked.
    “I thought it was going to be a long, hard battle, but it wasn’t so tough after all. In the application, I pointed out the obvious similarity between MEFA and human sickle-cell anemia. I learned later that one of the peer reviewers was an African American MD engaged in sickle-cell research himself. He was so intrigued by the proposal that he not only recommended funding the full 1.9 million, but pulled strings to fast-track the approval of the licenses for the use of Felis catus .”
    Noah unlatched a cage door and removed a beautiful but lethargic gray tabby.
    “Why her fur looks like mink!” said Anneke.
    “Yes, it does in a way,” said Noah. “Her name is Ophelia. My students like to name our cats after Shakespearian characters.”
    “Like the cat you brought to the meeting the other day? George, I think his name was?” Vera said, sarcasm apparent in her tone.
    Noah smiled apologetically. “I named that one. I’m not as imaginative as my students. Here’s George right here.” He pointed to one of the upper cages. “Come to think of it, though, I believe there may be a George in some of the history plays. Isn’t one of the lords or dukes in Henry VI named George?”
    Vera was abashed. “I … I don’t know. Are you into Shakespeare?”
    “Yes, very much so. You?”
    “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
    Vera’s eyes widened. The guy’s a Shakespeare nut like me. Who would’ve thought? “May I examine Ophelia?” she asked.
    “Of course,” said Noah, handing her the cat. “Here—a ‘harmless, necessary cat.’”
    Vera chuckled, delighted with the Shakespeare game. “Shylock, right? Merchant of Venice?” Noah nodded.
    Vera placed the animal on a spotless countertop and probed here and there, all the while softly stroking the scrawny cat. She pried open Ophelia’s mouth with her fingers and examined the teeth, gums, and tongue. “Well, there really is nothing distinctive, except possibly an enlarged spleen. The general condition is that of a dozen other feline diseases.”
    “Yes,” Noah replied, “and you’re right about the spleen. That’s an invariant symptom of MEFA.” Vera looked up from the cat and saw that Noah was eyeing her. His lips were parted as if he was going to say something else, but he didn’t speak. The vet eyed him in return. Vera wondered if it would be a conflict of interest if she asked the Shakespeare-loving scientist out on a date.
    After a few more questions, the group exited the cat room and thanked Noah for the tour. Vera felt that the tour had gone well and had worked toward Noah’s credibility. Even Anneke acknowledged that the research animals were well cared for. As the five of them made their