"Louis Armstrong is called-in to rescue the lost cat. Dressed in a faded Columbo mac, Louis arrives and from below scopes rooftop after higher rooftop.
Eventually, embarrassed and grinning sheepishly, Louis volunteers the news that he is scared of heights...
Then, magically, huddled in the bosom of a fireman on an elevating ladder, Louis, grim-faced, slowly ascends, as in an apotheosis, towards the white cat perched impassively on the slate rooftop of an old, red-bricked school.
Clutching the now rescued moggie in his arms, Louis peers through the small, angled rooftop window, his face relived, exalted. As if to make amends, Louis sings cheerfully, teeth grinning, to the assembled crowd below, who are looking up from the bleak, wet court yard.
Finally, now holding his familiar, trusted, small battered trumpet case, Satchmo readies to make his way off. As he leaves, Satchmo tells me to keep in touch, to call before long, because, he warns, the white pages in his diary are worn, and my phone number is fading fast."
- 5.30am dream...