About Charlie

[This is a draft]

Five years ago today, I got a knock at the front door. I thought it was one of my friends coming by to try to cheer me up, but tonight I didn’t want to bother. I was in a real funk. The love of my life, my wife, had died just two weeks ago. Pancreatic cancer. Real quick, three weeks after her diagnoses she was dead.

I walked over to the door, flipped on the front light. I didn’t recognize the man at first. I hesitated, and then I placed the face. He was the guy at the abortion clinic demonstration that I wrote about for Atlanta Casual Observer. Charles Speerman. He was not your usual fanatical anti-abortion activist. He was an equally vocal member of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA). He knew how to make lots of people mad at him. This was a guy without friends. I must have been staring out the window near the door for 30 seconds when I finally came to myself. Charles was looking right at me with a quizzical look. I opened the door and invited him in. He stepped in, holding a tiny kitten, cradled in his arm, asleep. In his other hand carried a duffle.

“Earl, I am very sorry about your wife.” Charles said quietly.

“Thanks,” I said, looking at the kitten.

Charles took a big breath, “I have a big favor to ask you …”

“Oh no, not one of your rescued animals from the pound. No, please, I’m dead tired, I can’t care for an animal.”

“Earl, please listen. You need a distraction from your life right now as much as this kitten needs someone to care for him and love him.”

I shook my head.

Charles continued without noticing, “You will not believe the cruelty this kitten has gone through. It makes me sick and boiling mad. He needs a home. You need something to fill that empty void you have right now.”

Now I started to get angry, “What – a cat to replace my wife?”

“No, no – I’m desperate. I can’t keep him. But I know you’re a gentle person. You’re kind and gentle. This cat’s life is in danger. People are looking for him to do inhumane things to him.”

“What kind of things?”

“I can’t get into now. It will make you sick. Please, would you take care of him?”

I sighed, “Okay, I suppose so. But I know nothing about cats.”

“All the better,” Charles replied, “Because of what they did to this kitten, he will not have a normal life of a cat.”

“Oh great” I muttered.

“You don’t need to know anything about cats, just treat this kitten like it was your own child. Care for him, feed him, talk to him, love him.” Charles paused, then, “Look, here is a bag of stuff. Some blankets, several bottles and formula, hypoallergenic baby bath.” Charles put the duffle down.

There was an awkward silence. Then Charles said, “Earl, I can’t see you again. I’m in big trouble, if they knew you knew me, your life would be very difficult.”

“Who? Who is after you.” I asked.

“The less you know, the better. Don’t see me, don’t write me, don’t phone me, don’t email me, nothing.” Charles handed the kitten to me. It was warm and soft. I could feel it breath. It stirred slightly, and then snuggled into my arm.

“But I wrote about you in the Observer.”

“Yeah, but nobody reads it. No one will make the connection if you stay away from me.”

Charles turned and left, “Remember, you don’t know me. No matter what happens, don’t see me, don’t come looking for me.” Charles walked out to the street and disappeared into the night.

Great. A cat. I never had a pet before. I looked at the tiny kitten, snuggled in my arm. I walked over to the sofa and sat down. I rested the arm on my leg that held the kitten. I looked closely at the kitten to see if there was evidence of how it was harmed. The kitten was grey, its head seemed big, but I guess all baby animals have big heads in proportion to the bodies. The fur was even. I began to wonder where Charles got the cat. A science or medical lab? PETA always seemed to be rescuing animals from those kinds of places. Suddenly the movie Jurassic Park popped in my head. Could this be a prehistoric cat? A saber tooth? Would it some night, when it was hungry, come attack me in my bedroom and eat me? I looked at how tiny it was. Nah, that is ridiculous, I told myself.

Is it infected with some rare disease? My nose began to itch, my eyes watered. A tiny knot of fear edged into the back of my head. No, I told myself. Charles wouldn’t do that to me. I felt uneasy. No, I told myself again. Then it happened. Suddenly I felt something warm on my arm under the kitten. The warmth moved and grew. I panicked. I jumped up from the sofa with a yell and dropped the kitten on the cushion. In just a moment I realized what happened, the kitten peed on me – it wasn’t house broken. I felt foolish.

The kitten awoke with a start. It gave a long plaintive squeak that just kept going. I tried to comfort it; it just continued its plaintive squeak. I rubbed its head. It still squeaked. I talked to it, “there, there, I’m sorry.” Still it squeaked. Then, in the confusion, it somehow found my index finger and started sucking. Ah ha, hungry. I walked over to the duffel; dug around, found a small bottle and a pouch of formula. I fumbled to fill the bottle, finally put the top back on, and put it to the kitten’s mouth. It stopped squeaking and it started sucking. As it was sucking, I thought about what to name the kitten. Charlie came to mind. So I named the kitten after its rescuer.

My life revolved around Charlie for the next few months. His eyes finally opened during the week. I wondered if there were shut because of some disease. Phil White, a veterinarian friend, assured me this was normal, that this was a very young kitten. But after two months, I was getting worried about Charlie because he did not walk. He looked like a normal kitten. But he still nursed on a bottle, showed no signs of becoming house broken, didn’t meow (he’d make long wavering squeaks and wails), did not purr. I feared that Charlie was a retarded cat. But when I talked to Charlie, he’d open his eyes and look at me, which would make my heart melt. I would spend hours talking to Charlie.

After three months, Charlie still was not walking, he was still nursing, and still wasn’t house broken. He was moving his limbs and paws, but as much as I encouraged him to walk, he could not do it. He was beginning to crawl. One evening, I decided to call Phil, my veterinarian friend. He came over that evening.

“Where did you get Charlie?” Phil asked when he came in.

I told him the whole story and asked if he would keep it quiet.

“Of course.” Phil said. “Let me look at Charlie.”

I led him to Charlie’s bed in the living room. Phil gently picked Charlie up. Charlie started squawking. I spoke soothingly to Charlie, “It’s okay, this is Phil, You’re fine.”

Charlie looked into the eyes of Phil. Phil gently stroked Charlie.

“Does Charlie ever purr?”

“No,” I answered.

Phil gently put Charlie on the carpet, upside down. Charlie laid there, limbs dangling upward. Charlie gradually rolled over to the side. Phil picked Charlie up, dangled him about a foot above his soft bed, and then dropped him. Charlie landed on his back, startled. He began a plaintive squawk.

“Hmm,” Phil said softly, picking Charlie up, “Charlie doesn’t have many of the reflexes he should have by now. He doesn’t right himself.”

Charlie continued his squawk, looking over to me. I took him, cuddled him, spoke softly to him, “It’s okay, Phil wasn’t hurting you, it’s okay, shhh.” I gently rocked Charlie, gently talking to him; his squawk subsided, and then stopped.

Phil asked, “Where did Charles find this kitten?”

“He refused to tell me.”

“Let’s call Charles – I’d like to ask a few questions,” said Phil.

“We can’t. Charles told me not to contact him. I tried, but he’s moved out of Atlanta and has left no forwarding address.”

Phil sat thoughtful for a few minutes, then ask, “Earl, have you ever thought about putting this cat out of his misery?”

I was horrified, “You mean, kill Charlie? Never, no way!”

“Good, I was just checking on your attachment and commitment to Charlie.”

“Charlie’s a pain. I don’t know how to put it, but we’ve bonded, I’ll do anything for Charlie.” I said.

Phil paused, then, “How about you bring Charlie to my office tomorrow. I’d like to do a few tests and do a more thorough exam. And Earl, there is no cost, this is on me.”

I protested, but Phil was firm.

The next morning, I took Charlie to Phil’s clinic. Phil conducted a full exam. Took X-Rays on Charlie, took blood samples. Phil asked if it was okay to do a spinal tap on Charlie. I gave the okay.

The X-Rays were normal and the physical appearance was fine. But the reflexes and behavior were all weird, so unlike a cat. Charlie wouldn’t groom himself, didn’t show the playfulness of a normal kitten of his age, and wasn’t walking.

Phil said he’d call me as soon as he got some results. He had a few friends at some labs that owed him some favors.

Three days later, Phil telephoned me. I answered and he said, “Hi Earl, I’ve got some results, you better come in here.”

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“You better come here, I’ve got something, but I want to tell you in person,” said Phil.

I packed Charlie in his carrier and hurried to Phil’s clinic.

Phil greeted me and showed me into his office, showed me the chair at his desk. I sat down and took Charlie out of the carrier and put him on my lap.

Phil sat into his chair and leaned across his desk. “Let me tell you what I’ve found. Blood samples came back normal. No antibodies of any of the normal cat diseases. Charlie’s physical appearance is normal. Muscle tone seems to be a bit off, but nothing out of the ordinary. Whenever Charlie starts exercising, he should get the normal muscle tone. The spinal tap showed no signs of disease. No spinal meningitis. But, the lab tech found some neurons; it’s normal to find them. She decided to check for any abnormalities. This is where she found something.”

Phil paused and he took a big breath. “The lab tech found that the chromosome count was all wrong on the neuron cells. Cats have 19 chromosome pairs. These neuron cells have 23 pairs. She did other checks on the neurons. These aren’t cat neurons.”

Phil took a big breath, “These are human neurons. The lab tech checked the blood cells. These have 19 chromosome pairs; it’s cat blood cells. The brain and the nervous system are made up of human neurons.”

I sat and took this in. “Did someone implant a human brain in Charlie? He has a human brain?”

Phil answered, “I don’t think anyone surgically implanted a human brain like you’re thinking of it. There’re no surgical scars.” Phil paused again, then, “Have you heard of stem cells?”

I shook my head.

“Stem cells are undifferentiated cells often gathered from early embryos. They have the ability to change into specialized cells. My theory is that someone inseminated a cat egg, developed a cat embryo, and as the cells started to differentiate, they took out the proto-neuron cells of the cat embryo and replaced it with human embryo stem cells. Those stem cells blended into the embryo and became specialized neuron cells. The hybrid cat embryo, with human proto neurons, was implanted into a female cat that carried the fetus to full term. This was a sophisticated production. Someone was well trained, had good equipment. But this was illegal, unethical, and immoral. We haven’t heard about this missing cat in the news because the lab didn’t report it. What does a drug dealer do when his drugs are stolen? He doesn’t go to the police. I don’t think this lab has either.”

I was stunned, sickened all at once. “Why did they do it?”

“I don’t know,” Phil answered. “I don’t know of anything practical. If they wanted to test drugs on human brain cells in living creatures, mice would be a better choice. Maybe a scientist or a lab technician just wanted to see if he or she could do it. It would be pioneering research, but in the same vein that Nazis did pioneering research.”

“So Charlie has a human brain.” I said.

“I don’t know.” Phil said. “Charlie has human neurons, but I don’t know how these neurons will develop inside a cat fetus. This is a whole new game. But the fact the Charlie doesn’t behave like a cat at this point suggests that it could have some human like brain qualities. But I don’t know. The cranial capacity is not the same as a human. I just don’t know what to expect.”

I was sick. I was furious. I began to understand Charles’ anger that night.

“What do you want to do?” asked Phil.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to turn Charlie into a freak show. I want him to live as normal of a life, whatever that is, as is possible.” I said. “I don’t think I want to take this to the police or the authorities. At least not yet.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ve asked the lab tech to keep this quiet. She has agreed.”

…

That was five years ago. Charlie grew, learned to walk, learned to play his own way, and was house broken, learning to use the toilet. But Charlie does not preen or lick his fur to clean it, so I need to bathe him regularly. Charlie loves it. I’d read to him, play with him. One of Charlie’s favorite pastimes now is to look at the newspaper. He’ll paw through it, staying on various pages. He likes to watch TV. Charlie would unnerve guests with his uncat-like behavior. I taught Charlie how to meow and not to watch people as they talked – to be more cat-like with other people.

Because of Charlie’s peculiarities, I’ve been able to get some interesting news stories. So, besides my special trade secret of writing story of a court clerk’s son in a middle school football team to get preferential seats, I had another card or two up my sleeve with Charlie.

The Next Story.

I discuss some background to this story in my MataSchema blog, along with some musings on the subject.