Free A Cat Named Darwin by William Jordan Page B

attend to all the requests, and as I worked into the interview I learned from Bonnie that some people, on losing their animal companions, commit suicide or seriously contemplate it. I felt a strong connection with Darwin, but this seemed a bit much. What else could you conclude but that these poor souls were emotional misfits, citizens of the psychological fringe?
    Even so, you could not so easily dismiss the enormous number of people, cloaked in the anonymity of a telephone conversation, who called for help during their moments of deepest grief. Bonnie Mader had struck a nerve; out there in the vast closet of American society lived multitudes who suffered in silence, fearing ridicule and derision, ashamed to admit they had developed deep bonds with simple creatures.
    We talked for an hour that day, and as we were about to hang up, I happened to mention where I lived.
    "Oh," said Bonnie, "my brother just bought a veterinary practice in Long Beach."
    "You're kidding me. I live in Long Beach—whereabouts is it?"
    Bonnie went on to explain that her brother now owned the Long Beach Animal Hospital—apparently, when a newly emerged veterinarian looks to buy a practice, he chooses what the market has to offer, wherever that may be. So Dr. Doug Mader had recently moved to this city of 450, 000 citizens just south of Los Angeles, a city that used to be called Iowa by the Sea in honor of the immigrants who came during the Depression. Sometimes it was called the Home of the Newly Wed and the Nearly Dead, with reference to the young families just starting out and the large number of old folks awaiting their ultimate destinations. If this were not reason enough to settle in Long Beach, there was also the
Queen Mary,
permanently docked and rusting in the harbor, and next to her, beneath an enormous geodesic dome, the
Spruce Goose,
built by Howard Hughes at the end of World War II. Long Beach boasted the narrowest house in the nation as well as the largest United States flag. If Doug Mader needed any further inducement, Long Beach was the home of Darwin.
    ***
    The next day I took Darwin, howling and urinating in his new transport box, to meet Bonnie's brother.
    Dr. Mader was an intense, lean, dark-haired man in his early thirties who had been nicknamed "Worker Bee" in vet school for his implacable energy. According to Bonnie, his primary motivation was actually to help animals, and he sponsored a pro bono program to save and rehabilitate injured wildlife. He had even set up a student intern program with U.C. Davis; consequently, he had close ties to the university and access to the latest in veterinary research and medicine. Darwin, his eyes dilated black, did not appreciate the significance of this, but he was soon to be in the best hands that medicine could hold forth.
    Dr. Mader laid those hands on Darwin and lifted him deftly from his box. He laid him gently on the examination table. Darwin seemed submissive, as if acknowledging the hands of a higher power, and lay dutifully on his side while the doctor pressed a stethoscope to his ribs and listened to his heart. He complied without resistance as the doctor prodded and massaged his abdomen for tumors and other telltale symptoms listed in the book of veterinary horrors. Then, declaring that Darwin's teeth needed cleaning, Dr. Mader explained that this required a blood test.
    Everything leaves evidence in the blood, a fact that I, as a lapsed biologist, understood. If Darwin's kidneys were damaged, that would alter the nitrogen profile. If he had parasites or any number of diseases, they would activate the immune system and induce changes in the blood cells; if liver disease, enzyme changes; and so on. The first order of business on starting a cat on regular medical care was to test its blood. This would establish a record against which future tests could be compared.
    Finally the exam ended. The results would come back the next day, and then we would schedule the cleaning. Dr.