On being escalated

responsible for this sort of thing, and suggested that the best tactic would be to call the main Council telephone number. From that number, one might be directed to the appropriate department.

“Tell them you’ve found a dead cat,” she said. “Tell them that and then ask to be put through to the people who deal with … well, with dead cats.”

Angus found the number. As he had feared, a machine answered, and gave him options. As the long list was recited, he began to doubt that he would be able to penetrate the electronic boundaries behind which authority now sequestered itself. But then, at last, a final option was presented. If you are concerned with none of the above and wish to speak to an operative, please … And at this point, the tape reached the end of the loop and the recital of the menu began again.

Angus decided that a random selection would at least get him into the system. operated. “Then what is it?”

“I found a dead cat,” said Angus. “I want to speak to the department that deals with such matters. I’ve been put through to trams – obviously not the right place.”

The voice relaxed. “Oh, I see. Well, you don’t need us, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” said Angus. “But could you please put me through to the right place?”

This brought silence. Then the reply came, “Dog control, I think. I can transfer you.”

“It’s a cat,” said Angus. “A cat.”

“I heard what you said,” the voice retorted. “It’s just that we don’t have a cat department. But we do have Dog Control. That’s the closest I can think of. Would you like me to transfer you or not?”

“I suppose you don’t have cat control because it’s impossible to control cats.”

The voice listened. Then came the response, “Hah! No, you’re right about sapiens Edinburgensis and the tram. Yet behind that official identity, there would be a person – a person who knew what it was like to be in love, a person who had hopes, who wanted to go somewhere, who believed in something or other, who had ideas about how the world should be. And in spite of all that human hinterland, with its richness and its pathos, the person himself was stuck in trams, like a press-ganged oarsman in a galley.

Dog Control answered. This time it was a business-like voice – that of one accustomed to the exercise of authority. This was a voice that dogs would dread: if this voice said Sit! dogs sat.

Angus began to explain himself. “I know that you’re in charge of dogs,” he said.

“Yes we are,” interrupted the voice. “Are you reporting a stray?”

“No,” said Angus. “The fact of the matter is that I’ve found a dead cat.”

For a few moments there was no response. Then, “This is a cat that’s been killed by a dog?”

“I don’t think so,” said Angus. “I don’t really know the cause of death. I just came across it in Drummond Place Gardens. It was lying there.” He wanted to mention the green eyes, but he did not.

“I’m sorry to hear this,” said the voice. “But I’m not sure that this is a matter for us.”

“I only asked to speak to you because you deal with dogs …”

“Yes, dogs. We deal with dogs. Your matter is …”

“Yes, I know,” said Angus. “I know it’s about a cat. But I thought you might know who deals with cats. That’s all. I’m not expecting you to deal with this. I just wanted …”

The voice interrupted him. “I see what you mean. Fair enough. But I don’t think we have a department that deals with cats.”

“Could you ask somebody?”

“I can transfer you up the line, so to speak,” the voice suggested. “I can escalate your call.”

Escalate my call! thought Angus. This was what every caller to any system most liked to hear. You’re being escalated.