Medicine: In the Bag

One afternoon last week Manhattan Patrolman John Cersosimo chased a ramshackle Buick lickety-splitting through Harlem. When he caught up with the Negro driver he saw, squirming and squealing on the back seat, a bulging burlap bag.

"What's that?" he said, opening the door, and gingerly poking the bag.

"Cats," said Driver Nathaniel Alexander. "I sell them to Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center. Ordinary cats are 35¢, fat cats 50¢. It's better than home relief."

Hustled to Magistrate Peter Abeles, Alexander pleaded guilty to a charge of cruelty to animals. For eight cats in the bag, he spent two nights in the jug.

Cats, said Dr. Charles...

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