I was
leaning against a lamp-post in a side street near Covent Garden in central
London. It was eleven o’clock on a cold, drab and dreary night in November and
drizzle was beginning to fall. I was gazing up at the roof of the house
opposite and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. The occasional
passer-by would follow my upward gaze and give me a quizzical look, probably
suspicious of a man dressed in a long dark trench coat loitering there. If they
had concentrated as hard as I was, they might have noticed the strange sight
that had been fascinating me for the last few minutes. Outlined in the vague
light of the lamp, they would have glimpsed the outline of a cat’s tail, waving
violently from side to side. Had they waited around a few moments longer, they
might even have heard what sounded like muffled growls reverberating from the bottom
of the drainpipe opposite.
I had
already established that somehow or other at the top of this pipe there was
indeed the hindquarters and tail of a cat protruding from the guttering that
someone had contacted me about earlier. Being called out to such unusual
situations was part and parcel of my job as an RSPCA emergency service officer
in the early 1970’s working for a small specialist unit tasked with coming to
the aid of trapped and distressed animals all over Greater London at night and
weekends.
How and
why the cat had got itself into this predicament I could only imagine. Perhaps
the cat had been out and about on its nightly prowl on the roof of the house
when it spied a mouse which had scampered off and shot down the pipe closely
followed by its feline pursuer, which having made a valiant attempt to follow
suit, only succeeded in getting its’ front end caught in the pipe. How long the
cat had remained in this most undignified and uncomfortable position was also
unsure, but an hour ago a neighbour living opposite saw its’ plight from her
bedroom window. As I pondered the best way of releasing the poor thing from its
dilemma, the neighbour who had first alerted me came out of her house and
approached me.
‘Are you
the RSPCA’ she asked, obviously spotting my epaulettes.
‘I am’ I
replied.
‘I called
you and I believe I know who the cat belongs to’ she informed me ‘There is a
lady who lives round the corner with a tom cat called Whiskers that is always
getting into trouble. I bet it is hers. I keep telling her to get it done, but
she doesn’t.’
‘Well it
has certainly well and truly got into trouble this time’.
‘How are
you going to get the cat down?’ she asked.
‘That is a
very good question,’ I replied ‘I think the only course of action is to get
some assistance in the form of the fire brigade’.
‘Shall I
go and see if it is her cat’.
‘That
would be helpful as it would be nice to return it to its owner once released’.
It was time for back-up and, as I worked alone
on the streets with only a colleague back at base to answer the telephone, the
only assistance available at this time of night was going to be the local Fire
Brigade. I contacted my colleague on the van, as these were the days before
mobile phones, to make a telephone call to Soho Fire Station which resulted a
few minutes later in the reassuring glow of blue flashing lights against the
buildings in the distance. The sight and sound of the fire brigade always gave
me an adrenaline rush as it does most people and as usual they turned up in
force and in good humour. The station officer, resplendent in white hat, jumped
from the engine and I walked over to meet him.
‘What have
you got for us?’ he asked with slight trepidation, as they were never quite
sure what to expect when we called them out.
After
explaining the situation it was obvious the firemen did not entirely believe me
so I pointed in the direction of the cat to confirm my story. The officer and
his men all gazed upward and I got the disturbing impression at this point that
they thought I might have been drinking all evening down the West End and was
winding them up for a laugh. Soon, though, each fireman in turn spotted the
very mobile tail and they were convinced.
‘There it
is Harry, see – just above the window there’.
‘Do you
see Jim?’
‘’Yeh I
see it – how on earth did it get stuck there?’
In no
time, they had a ladder propped up against the guttering close to the now very
angry cat whose growling was getting increasingly audible. At this point the owner of the house appeared
in his colourful dressing gown, roused by all the noise outside. Embarrassingly,
I suddenly realised that I hadn’t knocked on his door to inform him of what was
occurring and his face dissolved into a shocked expression at the sight of the
ladder propped up against his house and the assembled crowd of firemen and the
handful of onlookers who had stopped on their way home from a night out in the
west end.
‘What on earth are you doing to my house?
he bleated in despair, ‘Is it on fire?’
I walked quickly to his side and
explained what was happening. The shocked expression soon changed to disbelief
as he pirouetted around and stared up at his guttering trying to make out the
outline of the cat supposedly trapped there.
‘I can’t
see a cat up there. Are you sure? Is this some kind of joke?’
‘I’m
afraid there is definitely a cat up there’ confirmed the station officer ‘and
this gentleman from the RSPCA has tasked us with getting it down’.
‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ he
exclaimed, calmer now that he knew his house was not on fire. ‘Please try not
to cause any damage’.
It was volunteered to go up first to assess
the situation. I climbed the ladder and, as I neared the top, I could hear the
cat alternating from a pitiful meow to a frustrated growl. It was a large tabby
and white cat and while he waved his rear end at me I could easily see that he
was most definitely a tom cat. The growl became more meaningful when he felt me
touch his hindquarters and he started to thrash about in an attempt to
extricate itself, but to no avail. At the top of the downpipe was a large
ornate square catchment box where the guttering drained water into the pipe. I
shone my torch onto him and it appeared that the cat had both his head and one
front leg stuck in there. Whilst trying to calm him by stroking and whispering
soothing noises, I grabbed as much skin as I could at the back of this neck and
gave a gentle tug hoping his head would pop out, but this just resulted in
violent convulsions as he tried to assist in the matter. He also decided to screech
at the top of his voice which made it appear I was hurting him. I looked down
at the tableau below me and could see the expectant upturned faces of the
firemen and the small attentive audience and had to smile at the antics of the
poor householder who was rushing from one fireman to the next pleading for
information on what they intended to do next and uttering plaintive cries of
‘you will be careful? Please don’t damage my house’ to anyone who would listen.
To add to the confusion, I spotted what turned out to be the owner of the cat
arrive at this point and also proceed to run from one person to another
pleading for information. Spotting me up the ladder she called to me.
‘His name
is Whiskers. Please get him out. I’m so worried about him as he has been
missing for hours’.
I made a
final gentle effort to pull Whiskers free, but his forequarters had no
intention of joining the rest of him in the open air. I returned to ground
level.
‘It’s no
good’, I said, ‘I can’t budge him’.
A
discussion then started as to how we were going to proceed still accompanied by
the desperate home owner hopping around the perimeter trying to catch what our
plans were for the likely destruction of his house.
The firemen took turns going up to see the problem
for themselves. They also tried gentle persuasion as I had done, but to no
avail and there was general agreement that more drastic action was required.
The station officer made the suggestion that we should get the whole situation
down to ground level so that we could get to grips with the problem. The poor
householder was visibly going pale as it dawned on him what the firemen planned
to do.
‘I
expressly forbid you to do any damage to my property. You will all pay you
know. I forbid you’ he warned.
‘Don’t worry sir I’m sure the RSPCA will see
you all right for any damage we cause’, smiled the station officer giving me a
sly wink.
He was obviously not convinced and watched in
horror as another ladder was placed against the front of his house and two
firemen climbed up armed with a crowbar and a hammer. On arriving level with
Whiskers hindquarters, the two firemen proceeded to wrench the vertical pipe
off the wall. While one held onto the loose pipe, his colleague pulled the
guttering away and supported the now very angry Whiskers. The firemen carefully
descended in tandem preceded by a shower of debris, clutching the pipe and supporting
the backside of poor Whiskers. The house owner was by now apoplectic and
visibly pale. We stood in a circle contemplating the two metre section of pipe
containing the flailing tail and hind legs of the cat.
‘We’re not
going to see a thing out here in the dark’, stated a fireman.
‘You can
come round to my house if you like. It’s only a few yards away’, offered Whiskers
owner.
The offer was accepted and we all trooped off
leaving the bemused owner of the house staring up at his missing guttering with
a dazed expression on his face. Six firemen, me and a three metre section of
pipe incorporating the very aggravated Whiskers squeezed into her tiny kitchen.
The pipe was laid on the table and we all stared at it. This was no cheap
plastic pipe, but the original cast iron piping. The bright light of
the kitchen allowed me to have a clearer inspection of Whiskers predicament and
I could see that his front leg was more wedged than trapped in the pipe and I
was able to gently release it, but his head remained firmly caught.
‘So far so
good’ said the station officer obviously at a loss what to do next.
‘Now what
do we do?’ asked one of his colleague.
‘How about
trying to putting soap round the cat’s neck?’ suggested another.
‘Good
idea’.
Washing up
liquid was produced and squirted between the cat’s body and the pipe and we
tried again. Whiskers head still would not budge.
‘This is silly’, said one of the firemen ‘We
can’t do much with six foot of pipe getting in the way. We’ll have to cut the
pipe near the cats head and then we can have a go from both ends’.
The
station officer turned to me: ‘I agree. We have a small workshop at the
station. With your permission I suggest we return there and have a go at
cutting the pipe’.
Poor
Whiskers was once again paraded outside and the owner, crew and myself squeezed
into the rear cab of the fire engine and drove the short distance to the Fire
Station with the pipe across our laps and a fireman cradling Whiskers. We
retreated to the workshop. The pipe was positioned in a vice and a heavy duty
hacksaw appeared so that the laborious job of sawing through the thick cast
iron could begin. I held and stroked the rear end of Whiskers to try and keep
him calm as it was going to take a long time with the firemen having to take
turns as they got so hot in the confined space and needed a rest, as did poor
old Whiskers. Amazingly he was very still throughout the operation probably
dazed by it all and I had to keep checking to make sure he was OK. Eventually it
was sawn through and the long section of pipe was reduced to just a foot of
pipe. Seeing light now for the first time Whiskers made more valiant attempts
to free himself. The firemen took turns staring into the pipe and we could at
last see the face of poor old Whiskers pitifully staring out with scared eyes. His
head still would not dislodge so after considerable discussion and a multitude
of suggestions, it was decided that the only way of finally releasing him was
to now try and saw the pipe lengthways and prise it apart. This was going to be
a very delicate job if we were not to hurt or injure him so the first priority
was a tray of steaming cups of tea to give everyone the strength and fortitude
for the task aheed.
The
agitated Whiskers had to endure a further 40 minutes of sawing during which
time he was getting hot, agitated and shocked, so at every opportunity we gave
him time to rest and calm down. We were also getting very hot and bothered by
the time the pipe was finally sawn through. Then using chisels and brute
strength the pipe was gradually prise apart slightly which allowed extra space
and suddenly after three hours of work, the head and front leg of Whiskers
popped out into the open.
There were
cheers all round as he came free and a lot of self-congratulation. I placed
Whiskers on the floor where he worryingly panted for breath for a few seconds
before shaking himself. He then scratched his neck a few times and sat
nonchalantly licking his front paw which had been trapped for so long. The
owner was overjoyed and scooped him up for a cuddle. A quick check over showed that the only
injury he had suffered was a couple of grazes on his neck and probably a very
stiff leg by the morning. The owner was given the offending top of the
drainpipe as a souvenir. Another round of tea appeared from nowhere and the
obligatory saucer of milk was placed in front of Whiskers. Then everyone sat
around excitedly talking about the night’s events. Looking round the faces of
the assembled firemen, who must have been a hardened lot with the terrible
incidents and sights they had to deal with on a daily basis, it never ceased to
amaze and gratify me how much joy and satisfaction they appeared to get out of
rescuing a helpless animal.
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