[He's likely not that obviously infected but this is the least catgirly catgirl I could make 
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The ringing of his cell phone jolted him out of a nightmare, tangled in torn bedsheets drenched with sweat. His dreams had been feverish, jumbled thoughts of clawing at his own skin. The Mozambique hotel room was unventilated, and the air had a sweet smell of sickness.
The girl from the night before had let herself out, though not before leaving a memento in the passionate fingernail marks on his back. Or had it been two nights ago...? How long had he been lying here, slipping in and out of delirium?
The phone continued to vibrate in the dark. Victor groaned and pulled the sheets tighter about his shivering body. He hadn't felt this bad since doing that bad batch of cocaine in Dubai. He clawed around until he found the phone. It was his father calling. It was 1 am here, which meant it was 6 pm in Washington.
"Please tell me you found a flight, Dad," begged Victor.
"I called in a favor," came Dad's five magic words down the phone line. Victor breathed a sigh of relief. Having a senator for a father had its perks. "They're evacuating the consulate tonight. Just tell them my name and they'll put you on board. If anyone asks, you're there on a diplomatic mission on my behalf, and you never left the compound, got it? It's damn near the last flight out of Africa, so you better be on it."
"Don't worry about that, Dad, my traveling days are over. I'll just be happy to be back home," Victor said, forcing himself to rise from the bed.
His inner ear was doing cartwheels, making the dark room spin dizzyingly. The skin of his chest burned. Touching it, his nails felt painfully sharp as they raked over the sensitive skin. He was imagining things. It was just food poisoning. He staggered to the bathroom to splash water on his face.
"You're sure you haven't come into contact with anyone infected, right, son?" his father asked.
With a yank of the cord, the bathroom light flickered on, illuminating his swelling curves. Victor startled back from his reflection. His shaking hands touched the tender nubs growing from his scalp. He twisted around. The beginnings of a tail was pushing through a hole in his shredded pants.
"... you're sure, right, son?"
"Ye- yeah, dad, of course," Victor stammered, casting around for a hooded sweater. "I'll be on that plane, don't worry."