Spock’s very tight spot!
Shovelling spag bol leftovers into the bin, I began to stack the plates in the dishwasher. Then, once the machine was on, I nipped upstairs.
Time to make sure the kids were getting ready for bed.
I settled four-year-old Emma and turned to Thomas, six.
‘I want to cuddle Spock before I go to sleep,’ he announced.
Spock was our 15-week-old tabby kitten.
Hubby Paul, 33, is mad about the Star Trek movies, and as soon as he saw our tiny furball’s pointy ears, the little scrap had his name.
‘I’ll fetch him,’ I told Thomas, smiling. Trudging downstairs, I peered around.
Where had he got to? A mewling sound came from the kitchen so I followed it, but there was no sign of Spock. Miaow!
Blood rushed to my head
– the sound was coming from the direction of the dishwasher!
Had Spock beamed himself up into it? The water was already swirling into the machine. Frantically, I rushed towards it. Would we have a soggy moggy? Hurriedly, I jabbed the ‘stop’ button. But then another miaow sounded… from a cupboard nearby.
Relief coursed through me. Crouching down, I pulled open the door and spied a tail and a bottom… but no head.
‘There you are,’ I chuckled. ‘Out you come.’
The naughty little cutie must have trekked his way in when I’d opened the cupboard door to get out a tablet for the dishwasher.
I gently placed my hands around his tummy to coax him out, but his legs skidded slightly to the side and the rest of him wouldn’t budge.
I kneeled on the floor and peered in more closely.
Spock was in the corner of the cupboard beneath a socket.
With a sickening feeling, I realised he’d poked his head through a hole left when a space had been cut into the unit to install the power point. ‘Come on,’ I whispered. But it was no use… Spock was jammed tight.
Miaowwwww! he protested. Couldn’t he get out the same way he’d got in?
Nope. He remained stuck fast. Poor little furball!
Paul and the kids came trooping down the stairs, so I explained how Spock was stuck.
‘But I’m sure he’ll get out again,’ I said, brightly, looking at the kids’ worried faces. MIAOWWW!
Oh, heck! Cue more soft tugging, but
nothing prised Spock’s head out of the three-inch hole. What next? Maybe I could get my hand round the back of the kitchen unit and somehow push his face back out, I thought. Scrambling down on the floor, me and Paul managed to push out the bottom of the cupboard. Wedged with my arm underneath, I shoved as far forward as I could… but it was impossible. Mewwww.
Spock sounded frightened. More coaxing. More tugging…
I held on to him tight like… well… a Klingon. But he’d well and truly gone beyond his final frontier.
I dialled 999.
‘First port of call is the RSPCA,’ explained the fire brigade operator.
Soon I was getting advice. ‘Apply cooking oil and margarine,’ said the person from the RSPCA.
I poured some oil into the palm of my hand and massaged it around Spock’s neck.
Next, I took a dollop of margarine from the tub and smothered it around his neck, too.
I tried again to lever him out, but he was still stuck.
Poor Spock’s miaows were becoming more distant.
He was getting very distressed. Panicked, I rang the RSPCA again. This time an inspector, Angela, came.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it before,’ she said.
Paul took the kids up to bed while Angela tried the oil and marg combo.
Eventually, shaking her head, she made a call, and four firefighters arrived… all these people to rescue our little kitty! Spock was now silent.
The firefighters decided to take out the dishwasher from its moorings and try to get round the back of the unit.
‘There’s a live wire on the other side,’ said one of the firefighters. ‘It’s a wonder Spock wasn’t electrocuted.’
Quickly we turned off the power, but there was no way round the back.
‘We’ll have to cut him out,’ said one of the firefighters.
An electric saw fired up, ate into the wood and travelled downwards. Then they used a drill, to extend the hole above Spock’s head. ‘There,’ said the firefighter. Angela slowly prised Spock’s head upwards into the drilled hole and… released him.
He’d been trapped for twoand-a-half hours, but now we could cuddle our silly kitty.
Later at the vets, Spock was given painkillers for a sore neck and was soon back to his playful self.
Our Spock is destined to live long and prospurr. Phew!
Our silly kitty got himself into a very tight spot Firefighters came to Spock’s rescue