The fire-bell clanged urgently. The huge engine swept into view, swung into Rosemary Street, Belfast, and stopped. The six members of its crew jumped into action and in a matter of seconds were running their ladder to the rooftop.
Even before the ladder was in position a crowd of several hundred had gathered. They all asked the same question: “Where’s the fire?”
No smoke could be seen. No crackling of burning could be heard. Nothing could be heard but a plaintive cry from the rooftop. As plainly as words, the cry was a plea for rescue.
As the crowd watched, the firemen ran out their ladder and in a moment a helmeted figure was clambering up it towards the figure which every now and then risked a peep over the edge of the parapet.
The crowd watched breathlessly as the fireman reached up, took the quivering body in his arms and made his descent.
As soon as ground was reached the rescued one leaped from the fireman’s arms and made off – as only a frightened, starving white cat can.
The little drama was enacted at 7.30 last night. A woman had heard the cries of the stranded cat all day long and had phoned the Fire Brigade, asking could they help.