I USED to know a vet who said that it was a complete fallacy to say that cats always land on their feet when they jump out of trees or fall off high buildings.

He added that he had treated enough pussies with broken limbs over the years to be able to vouch for this as a fact. His words came to mind the other day when we were sitting in the garden with two friends enjoying the warmth of early evening and drinking a cup of tea.

Suddenly my friend Bobby gave a little shriek and pointed to the roof where Oscar the grey cat was sliding down the tiles towards the edge.

By a supreme effort he managed to screech to a halt on the edge and a collective release of breath echoed round the garden.

He flicked his tail nonchalantly as if to say 'I meant to do that' and casually walked back up the roof to the very top and, realising he now had our full attention, began what can only be described as a daredevil circus act which went on for a full half hour.

This started with a walk across the pointed bit at the very apex of the roof, delicately treading paw in front of paw and pausing, or should that be pawsing, every now and then to see if anyone was losing interest.

When he reached the end he reversed a bit, did a delicate about turn, and sashayed back the way he had come.

I should point out that our roof is very high and apart from at the front where there is a flat roof over the porch, the drop is straight down, onto either the garden or onto concrete.

From below, a huddle of five adults and two children could only watch as the circus act grew more daring and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had produced a trapeze. He came down the tiles, he went up the tiles. He walked on the very edge of the guttering and let his paw occasionally slip. He raced back up to the top and disappeared down the other side only to reappear at the other end of the roof. He climbed onto the middle chimney and tip toed round the edge. Then, to his watching audience's horror, he climbed up and poked his head and two front feet right over and into the chimney.

After a few moments, no doubt satisfied with the horrified groans from below, he came out, tightrope walked across the roof again and repeated the exercise in the other chimney.

There were various suggestions for getting him down. The fire brigade (they don't come out for cats any more), a ladder (difficult with the overhanging concrete gutters) using the hose or the power washer (not recommended by the RSPCA and we would have had to rush up and down with a blanket to catch him). There was also 'what goes up must come down' school of thought except we couldn't work out where he had gone up. Both cats have actually been on the roof before, climbing onto an obsolete freezer which was awaiting collection and provided a stepping stone to the porch. On that occasion my son-in-law put a ladder out of the landing window, perched precariously on it and managed to grab each cat in turn. However, he hates heights too, and indicated he wasn't too keen on repeating this act of heroism.

After an interval of time Oscar tired of his act, walked to the edge of the guttering and began to cry pathetically. 'I can't get down, please, please help me', he seemed to be saying.

My practical daughter, having had enough of this Oscar winning performance, decided to test the validity of his claims. She brought out a tin of cat food, scraped a fork round it, called 'puss, puss, puss and like flash he ran along the roof, leapt over to the cherry tree in the border, scrambled down and rushed to her side.

He didn't look even slightly guilty, of course, because cats have no conscience, but he did look miffed when we said 'only joking' and put the cat food tin back indoors again.

I used to own a cat called Panda who had a penchant for climbing telegraph poles. Show him a pole and up he would go like a lumberjack until he was close to the top whereupon he would freeze, cling on for dear life and utter loud cries.

My mother got sick of people hammering on the door to tell her the cat was up a pole again because she knew that as soon as a crowd had gathered he would begin his ascent. This consisted of slithering down with claws out, stopping, looking down and crying again, then sliding down some more until he reached about eight feet off the ground when he would perform an amazing topsy turvey feat which left him with head down and bottom up.

He then gathered himself and took a flying leap at the nearest onlooker. We the family knew better than to be that nearest person, because he always kept his claws out in order to get a better grip on whatever part of human anatomy he landed on.

He was a dear old boy, and lived to a great age. When he was ancient and infirm he still made attempts at telegraph poles, but only managed a few feet and always looked so affronted when someone stood on tiptoe and plucked him neatly off the pole.

Cats are never grateful when you rescue them. I still bear the scars gained when I was about eleven and, urged by my grandmother, climbed a tree to bring down a skinny tabby who was far out on a branch over the road. 'Go on', she kept saying as the cat retreated further and further.

When I finally grabbed it it struggled and hissed and caught my arm with its back legs, causing deep gashes, before running off up another tree.

A man passing in the road said helpfully 'I wouldn't bother with that one, ees wild' and when we got home my mother was very angry because of my arm and my grandmother said 'I told her not to go up after that cat because he's a wild stray' and I learned a valuable lesson. Never trust a cat or a grandmother when they're backed into a corner.