The previous night we had had a monster party and several of the guests had stayed overnight. It had been a corker and we all had hangovers to match. The only member of the household not so afflicted was Ben, aged six, who had been allowed outside to play with his friends in the cul-de-sac at the front.

Just as I was handing out the aspirin and pouring orange juice for all with a shaking hand and still in my night attire, an ear splitting yell rent the peace of this lovely, sunny morning. "MUUUM, Charley's been chased by a dog and she's stuck up this huge tree down by the river," he yelled. "Not to worry darling" I soothed "Charley's a clever little cat and she'll find her way down. She always does. You'll see."

But it was not to be. As the minutes passed, Charley reports kept flowing through the front door, courtesy of the neighbourhood children. I decided that I had better have a look and I discovered that indeed Charley was well stuck and that a small crowd had gathered down by the river to watch the spectacle. The perpetrator dog had vanished by this stage, of course.

One of the owners of a houseboat moored alongside this particular stretch of the river had come up with a brilliant idea. "Ali" he said, "Why don't we put some of Charley's favourite food in a box. We can then attach the box to two boat hooks strapped together end to end. If you can get the box up to Charley's level in the tree, she might be interested in the food, climb into the box and then you can lower her down?" The crowd murmured their agreement.

Now I was sure that there were flaws in that plan, but with my crashing hangover, I was in no position to argue. "OK" I said, "We'll give it a go." The houseboat owner got out his ladder and placed it up against the tree. It was clearly my job as Charley's cat slave to ascend that ladder with the box attached to the boat hooks gripped in my right hand. I got the box almost up to Charley's level in the tree, but she wasn't interested. No way was she going to climb into that thing. Sensible cat.

As I slowly made my descent, I heard a horrified extremely loud stage whisper off left from my sister who had just joined the throng. "Ali" she hissed, "You're still in your nighty T-Shirt and you haven't got any pants on, everyone can see!" My God I thought, she could be right. So I let go of the ladder with my left hand to feel down below to see if I had got any pants on or not. Big mistake. "I have got pants on" I yelled in protest, "But they're thongs and you can't see them!" As the words came out of my mouth, I lost my balance and box, boat hooks and myself came crashing to the ground. The gathering crowd thought all this hilarious and roared their appreciation.

For me in my delicate state, this was getting beyond a joke. I gave my sister a filthy look and gazed up at Charley who had started miaowing pathetically. The ever helpful houseboat owner had another suggestion: "Why don't you call the Fire Brigade?" Why not, I thought? Charley will never get down on her own with all this commotion and the crowd showed no intention of dissipating.

Back to house I went to call the Emergency Services. Now I knew that the Fire Brigade, quite rightly, took a dim view of time wasters and that on occasion they charged a whacking great fee. I explained Charley's predicament and delicately enquired as to what the cost might be for this rescue? The nice fireman asked: "Do you consider your cat to be in great distress? Because if so, we won't charge for the rescue." "Oh yes" I responded, "My pussy's in a dreadful state!" In my defence, please bear in mind that by this stage with my crashing hangover/headache, any innuendo on my part was completely unintentional. There was a muffled guffaw down the other end of the line "We'll be there in ten minutes" said the Fire Brigade. The hungover guests thought this verbal exchange very funny indeed. I was not amused - sense of humour failure imminent. This was clearly my day for making a complete and utter fool of myself.

We all trooped outside to await the rescue. Sure enough and true to their word, the Fire Brigade arrived in ten minutes flat with sirens wailing. They descended from their vehicle and took a good look at the motley home crew, most of us still in our night attire and a rather big grin spread over their collective faces. They gazed up at the star of the show, Charley, whom it must be said was stuck up a very tall tree indeed. "Long ladder and gloves job, this" muttered one fireman to his colleagues.

Up the ladder he went with skill and practiced ease. "Is Charley OK?" I yelled up to him in a worried tone. "She's purring her silly head off" was his resigned response. Down came the fireman and Charley. The crowd applauded. I was so grateful to the firemen and invited them all in for a cup of coffee.

Charley had fallen in love with that fireman. Purrs, head butts, nose to nose, the works. So cute and grateful when she wants to be, little rascal. With the Cat Appreciation Society in full throttle, I noticed one of the lady guests making, how shall I put it, big eyes at Charley's fireman. Surely not I thought. Must be my hangover.

The end and perhaps best part of the story is that they got married a year later and now have one small son. And as for me, it took me ages to live down that episode in the neighbourhood, all dignity shredded. And as for Charley, well she's had a thing for uniforms ever since. All's well that ends well!

Copyright © Ali Cassel
March 2, 2001