Nine Lives

1

I’d rate CC a solid six on the cuteness scale – adorable, but not overwhelmingly so.  To CC’s credit, I’ve only seen her in internet images.  In these pictures, CC is six weeks old, her patches of white and grey striped fur a contrast against the solid brownish grey of her mother.  CC’s face has a square quality; her mother’s is triangular.  How can this be, the pictures begs.  Genetics allow for variances, even amongst immediate family – but this, this is too much – they don’t look like they could be cousins, let alone mother and daughter.

CC (short for Carbon Copy) is the world’s first cloned cat, born December 22, 2001.  Her creation was the work of Genetic Savings & Clone, a company that hoped to extend the revolutionary cloning technology previously reserved for barnyard mammals to pet owners willing to pay large sums to duplicate their favorite pet.

CC’s birth – and subsequent threat of widespread pet cloning –  was met with anger.  Why produce clones with so many animals in shelters?  Why the hefty price (upwards of $50,000) when that money could be used elsewhere?

The birth of Dolly, the sheep cloned in 1996, had already raised ethical qualms.  But, in Dolly’s defense, the cloning of farm animals could, at least, serve a practical purpose.  Cats serve no practical purpose, as much as pet lovers may argue a warm lap while watching a movie is useful.

I was amongst the naysayers when I learned of CC’s birth.  Cat cloning seemed a ludicrous, and indulgent endeavor.  Plus, couldn’t they have at least cloned a cat who was an undeniable 10 on the cuteness scale?

2

We weren’t looking for a cat.  Rather, my boyfriend Jaso, and I were looking for clothes at our favorite mall, as we were apt to do on weekdays when other students attended to pesky  “class” and “studying.”  In between stops at Filene’s Basement and the food court, a pet store distracted us.  Lined along the store’s window was a playpen in which orange kittens frolicked.  I love few things more than kittens; Jason is the same.  We wordlessly delayed lunch and entered.

“Are you looking to adopt or foster a pet?” a chunky cat-like woman inquired as we bee-lined to the kittens.

“No, I’m not…I’m about to graduate, actually,” I responded.  “Can I pet them anyway?”

I didn’t wait for her response as I flung myself to the playpen.  The kittens were cute – sevens by my estimation – but ordinary.  Probably eight weeks old, they ran to me as I poked my fingers through the wire, their oversized blue eyes meeting mine.

“Look at you, you cute kitties,” I cooed as I ran my fingertips along the fragile tops of their heads.  “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest things?  Yes, you are!” I give the evil-eye to parents who speak in baby-talk, but I can not contain myself when it comes to infant animals.

“You mentioned fostering,” Jason asked the cat-woman, cutting through my squeals.  “How does that work?”

“Well, I work for Palisades Animal Rescue,” the cat-woman began.  “The cats here are rescued from shelters when they are about to be euthanized.  .  We take them to our smaller shelter and bide them some time.  We’re always looking for foster parents until we can find them forever homes.”  She paused.  I have a theory that women who love cats were cats in past lives; this woman did little to refute this belief.   The cadence of her words can best be described as soft, furry and slightly anti-social:  catlike.

“I would just love to have this one for a couple weeks,” I offered while rubbing the belly of the largest kitten.  “Can we J, can we?” I said, turning to Jason, only to find him lingering at another cage behind me.

“No, we’re going to get this one,” he said, his hand gracing the head of a grey and white cat.  “This is an amazing cat.”  He said this with a finality and emphasis rare for his ADD personality.  I tore myself from my kittens and made my way to him.

“But, don’t you want to see a kitten grow?” I asked, looking at his cat.  She was full grown, but her face still held innocence.  She had a small white patch that looked like a milk drip centered under her mouth and astoundingly large white whiskers.  Her fur was mid-length, a classy dark gray.

“Alex, look at this cat.  She’s so loving!” The cat forcefully rubbed her throat against Jason’s fingers.  “I’m telling you, this is an amazing cat.”

“Well, there’s something I do need to tell you about Miss Smokey here,” the cat-woman said as she pointed to Jason’s cat.  “She has FIV.”

Jason pulled his hand back.  “FIV?”

“Feline AIDS, essentially.  If you have other cats at home, she could infect them.  Otherwise, you should be fine.  FIV is a lot like HIV – as long as the cat stays healthy, you wouldn’t notice it.”  The cat-lady explained the intricacies of FIV and revealed her name to be Anna.  As she spoke, I poked my fingers into Miss Smokey’s cage.  She was loving.  “Her previous shelter picked her up on the streets of Durham – amazing for such a sweet cat,” Anna continued.  Miss Smokey rubbed her throat against my hand.  Upon seeing the obvious bond that was being built, Anna asked,  “Are you sold?”

3

CC’s status as a clone was confirmed by independent DNA tests.  Her genetics are the same as the cat she was cloned from, Rainbow.  But, mysterious differences exist.  An AP article eloquently summarizes just how un-clonelike clones can actually be:

“Rainbow the cat is a typical calico with splotches of brown, tan and gold on white. CC… has a striped gray coat over white.  Rainbow is reserved. CC is curious and playful.
Rainbow is chunky. CC is sleek.”

The differences between Rainbow and CC are the physical manifestation of the endless nature versus nurture debate.  They may have the same DNA, but they don’t have the same life experiences (Rainbow had a typical upbringing; CC was raised in a sterile environment, without other cats and with limited human contact), thus, they are not – can not –  be the same cat.   As explained by Wayne Pacelle, senior vice president of the Humane Society “cloning does not lead to duplication.”

4

Within days of bringing Miss Smokey home, Jason and I did two things:

1. Changed her name to Kitty (this being Jason’s choice; his family dogs are named “Big Dog” and “Little Bit.”).
2. Decided we could not foster her.

Anna was thrilled when we let her know we wanted to adopt.

“Oh, I am so glad Miss Smokey has someplace to live forever,” she said over the phone.  “Can  you come to the mall again and fill out paperwork?”

I did just that – I had clothes to return as well, naturally – and as I signed papers stating I would never declaw Miss Smokey/Kitty or give her to a shelter, Anna slipped some secrets.  Notably, Palisade’s so-called-“shelter” was actually Anna’s home, and the “we” that rescued the cats was, in fact, just Anna.  Further, as much as Anna loved cats, she admitted all cats are not created equal.  She noted that Miss Smokey was “truly exceptional” while the orange kittens that had originally drawn me in were “stupid.”

5

CC found a forever home as well.  After several years in the laboratory, CC went home with Duane Kramer, the professor who helped clone her.  Because CC was raised in a sterile environment, Kramer had to be gradually introduce CC to her domestic environment, exposing her first to people and then to other cats.

Kramer’s efforts worked.  On December 13, 2006, Kramer announced CC had given birth to three healthy kittens.  Two resembled CC in both looks and temperament.  The third was the spitting image of Smokey, CC’s kitten-daddy.  They had given birth the natural way.

6

Cats are creatures of habit.  Kitty is no exception.  Each day she is pretty much the same and pretty much amazing:

Kitty wakes us each morning.  Some nights, she’ll sleep in our bed (curling her body so it resembles a perfectly round gray bathmat), but most nights she sleeps in a cardboard box in the guest bedroom.  I wake as I hear the faint pat of paws on the wood floor.  Next, the slow creak of our bedroom door as she slinks in.  At this point she always, always meows – loud, urgent and expressive.  Get up, she is saying, I miss you.

She launches herself onto the bed, running over Jason’s nearer body first, a traveler over mountain tops, then reaching my chest.  She pushes her forehead to my lips, demanding a kiss.  If I want to sleep more, she’ll rest on my chest, situating her body close to my neck, the hum of her engine-like hum reverberating over my chest.  If I’m ready to wake, she’ll follow me as I exit the bed and move to the living room, her tiny feet retracing my steps.

At this point, Kitty subtly demands food.  I dutifully feed her.  She never eats at this point.  Instead, she looks at the food, evaluates, and saves it for later.  Kitty is remarkably thin, in spite of the wet food we feed her twice daily and the bountiful amount of dry food we keep available at all times.

The rest of the morning, Kitty is my shadow, as she continues to follow me through my routine:  she is behind me as I make coffee; follows me to the closet as I pick my clothes;  greets me as I exit the shower.  As I leave, she perches on the couch near the front door, her raising her forehead for a goodbye kiss.  She is like a dog in her constant companionship – but smaller, less demanding and not requiring of walks or bathroom breaks.  Before Kitty, I was a steadfast “dog person,” but now I am convert.

When I return, Kitty is usually on the same spot on the couch.  Like me in the morning, the clank of shoes on the steps alerts her I am home.  As I open the door, she zones her bright green eyes to meet mine.  You’re home, they say, finally.

In the evenings, Kitty has one initiative:  lap time.  She is zealous in her quest, stalking me until I rest on the couch, my lap exposed as I extend my feet onto the ottoman.  Even Jason will admit that she prefers my lap – he claims it’s “warmer” for some reason – but I like to believe it’s because she loves me more.  On my lap, Kitty is content and asleep within minutes.

7

Around the time CC gave birth, Genetic Savings & Clone folded. Ultimately, the company was only successful in selling two kittens, and cited “unpredictable results” and a “weak market” among other reasons for their demise.  There are no other known cat cloning businesses in the Western Hemisphere.

8

To make another Kitty, we would have to replicate her DNA as well as her first year-and-a-half of life.  As proven by CC, the DNA part is possible.  It’s her childhood we will never be able to recreate.

Kitty was rescued from the streets of Durham (primarily known as the site of the infamous Duke lacrosse “rape.”)  During this hard-knock life Kitty presumably acquired FIV – by an attack from a vicious cat, I tell myself, rather than other, more lewd options – as well as her aversion to dogs and cars.  Perhaps this time period explains her obsession with eating live plants, gratitude for a safe bed and interest in empty cardboard boxes.

Her time at Palisades was also unique, as she was quarantined from the FIV negative cats, confined to a small space and with little chance to get Anna’s full attention.  This portion of her life explains her aversion to other cats and craving for constant affection.

As sad as it makes me to think of Kitty’s trials, I am grateful for them, as I recognize the difficulties of her kittyhood made her the amazing cat that she is today.  Without these experiences, I can not guarantee Kitty’s clone would be as loving or quirky.

9

In the wake of Genetic Savings & Close failure, little hope remains for cat owners.  At best, genetic banking exists.  This procedure is the preservation of genes in liquid nitrogren, which can be used at a later date should another cloning business arise.  Some cat owners, unable to pay the hefty price of initial DNA extraction and yearly “upkeep” fees have taken matters into their own hands, freezing clumps of fur, follicles intact, in their home freezers.

Last night, Jason woke me up.

“Quick Alex, look,” he said as I rolled over, “she’s going to jump from the dresser.”  As I opened my sluggish eyes, I saw Kitty hurl her petite body from the top of the nearby coat dresser.  In the air, she pushed her front legs forward as the wind pushed her fluffy fur backwards.  Her green with yellow flint eyes shown even in the dark of the night.  Her nimble feet landed with a soft plunk onto the comforter.

She meowed as if to say, wake up and play boys, I’m lonely.

“Kitty, come here,” I said, lifting my arms from under the sheets and grabbing her at the stomach.  “There we go sweetie,” I continued as I lifted her to me, my lips meeting her forehead.  “There we go.”

I made a mental note to clear some space in the freezer.