Anne was sitting down on her knees, at the end of the west pier. Her hands were on the wooden ridge at the edge, and she was leaning over it, to look down. Down below, on a small stone ledge stood a cat, looking up at her and meowing. The poor thing was clearly trapped and Anne dreaded to think what might happen once the tide came in and covered the ledge. Already, waves were beating against the pier harshly. She was well aware of how dangerous the waters around piers were.

That was probably all the more reason to get help, or find a stick or piece of rope to help the cat climb up. But that thought didn't occur to her. She took off her thick woolen shawl and put it down on the ground. She could have used the shawl, damn it. This was why Wards didn't live long. She kept her checked scarf tied around her head, however, because there was a biting cold wind. Then she held on to the wooden ridge and lowered herself to the ledge. 

It was lower than she had thought, she realized with some concern. Her head came to just above the wooden bar on the pier edge. She held on to it and tried to lean down carefully, as far as she could, trying to reach the cat, but suddenly the cat leaped up, clung onto the wooden bar, climbed up, and walked away across the pier. Anne stared at it with open mouth. 

She, on the other hand, could not jump as high as that, and while she had thought that she could easily pull herself back up once she was down here, she now realized that she couldn't. Uh-oh.