Drama on the Canal part Two by Sandra Bunting

High Drama on Galway’s Eglington Canal

Neighbors often come to me with their problems. I am not shy on the phone and wouldn’t hesitate about writing a letter if I felt there was something wrong in the area. Whether or not it does any good, is another matter.
This particular time, the days were just starting to lengthen and a touch of spring was in the air. A neighbor from across the road, Kate O’Connor, knocked at my door. She told me that a cat was stuck in a pipe under one of the bridges. The woman was shaking. She had seen the cat the previous night when someone had told her that the animal had been there for a whole week. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep from worrying about that cat,” she said.
Her husband had drawn a map on the back of a napkin. I phoned the GSPCA and gave a description of where she had told me the cat was and then thought nothing about it. Problem solved! The next day there was another knock on my door. It was the same neighbor. “The cat’s still there”, she said. “I didn’t sleep last night worrying about it.” This time she insisted that I go to the canal to see for myself.
It wasn’t a long walk. We passed the local bakery and fish mongers, crossed the street to an unsightly unfinished apartment, passed an electrical shop and came to the bridge on New Road. Then we turned left instead of right.
It was on the side of the bridge I thought it was. It was not in a modern pipe under the bridge. Its head and little front paws were sticking out of a tunnel like hole in the old stonewall around the bridge. “ She must have fallen in after going after birds” said my neighbor. The circular hole was too far down for us to attempt a rescue.
The cat did not appear distressed. It was a clean white and grey with a bright red collar with a bell on it. It looked well cared for. Someone must have been missing his or her pet. A passer by said they thought they had often seen the same cat on the wall surrounding an apartment building further on up the canal. I sent my neighbor up to inquire but she soon returned disheartened. “They think I’m crazy, They are all students in that building and they are partying. It’s still morning. Imagine!” she said. I didn’t tell her it was rag week.
Mr. O’Connor, the woman’s husband, knocked on the door of the house nearest the bridge. It was answered by a woman from England visiting here for a week. When the situation was explained, she became interested and offered the use of several ladders in the backyard. It didn’t work. The cat was in an awkward position and couldn’t be reached. It also retreated further into the pipe when people tried to get to it.
Building on the Eglington canal began in 1847 for navigation and waterpower for the many mills and industries along Galway waterways. There were woolen mills, flour and corn mills, several distilleries, marble works, and a bag factory. The closest one to New Road was a sawmill at Parkavara. I had heard there had been several underground canals and thought there might be a network of subterranean tunnels. That way the cat could perhaps get out somewhere or at least be able to hunt. My research at the university and the local museum revealed nothing. That is not to say that they do not exist and is a topic I would like to investigate further.
Another day passed. The cat kept its lonely vigil. Ironically, it made the perfect picture. An adorable cat with a red collar framed by old stone, the odd plant struggling to grow on the wall and below the water. I wished I were a decent photographer.
The GSPCA then phoned to see what the status was on the cat. I met a pleasant young woman called Tony on the scene. Then I almost fell in the canal when we crawled over the barriers to have a closer look. “This is a very interesting case”, she said. But there was nothing she could do. “The only possibility is a boat”, she stated. Someone had heard that a family, new to the canal area, had a Canadian canoe but it would have been difficult to launch. The water was low. Someone else suggested contacting the local secondary school’s famous rowing team.
The next time I looked for the cat, it was gone. Someone had craftfully lowered a plank, tied it in place with ropes and placed a small open tin of cat foot at the top. I thought I had spotted the same cat down the canal eating duck’s eggs.
When I got home my children presented me with a box. In it was a stray cat they had found in the bushes of the Jes Secondary School Complex. The cats there are wild and numerous. The reason they brought this one home was that it was very young and it had a broken leg. “Just ‘til it gets better”, I said, “just ‘til it gets better.”