Casper the Commuting Cat: The True Story of the Cat Who Rode the Bus and Stole Our Hearts (22 page)

Over the months since Casper’s travels had become known, I had received letters, emails and messages from across the globe, all of them full of kindness. This one cat had touched people. He had ignited a spark of something – perhaps love, perhaps recognition – that made it clear to me that we all have much more in common than maybe we realize.

We spend so much time hearing and reading about such awful things – wars, crime, people hating each other and doing terrible things. What Casper’s story has made me remember is that there is a lot of good in people. When things are difficult, our natural instinct is to reach out to each other, even when the other person is a complete stranger living on a different continent. If Casper has made two people talk to each other on a bus, or strike up a conversation over a newspaper article, or chat over the garden fence about that funny little cat who liked to ride on the bus, then I genuinely feel that he has made a difference.

I’m not an overly religious person, but I do believe that all of us have that ability to change things – whether we’re a person or a cat or anything in between. When I realized just how much Casper had meant to people, many of whom had never even met him, I decided that I had a duty to make sure that his whole story was told. I only hope that by sharing these words I can give some comfort to people who have lost their own pets, and make them realize that they aren’t alone.

I spent many happy hours remembering my lovely Casper, and all the cats who went before him The whole process reminded me of things I thought I’d forgotten. It made me find out more about this funny little cat who’d managed to construct a world of his own every day. I went to the bus depot to talk to all the lovely drivers and company staff who had known Casper and had helped; I spoke to neighbours and passengers who had known him well; I met people through Facebook and other sites who all had stories to share.

It all started to make sense to me at that point, as I found out more and more about my own cat and his secret life. I also realized that people were waiting for an opportunity to talk, not just about him, but about the animals they had loved and lost. It was as if Casper gave them an excuse to be honest about their feelings.

If you are reading this because you, too, have lost a beloved pet, please take comfort in the fact that you experienced a wonderful relationship with them. Yes, the pain of losing them is awful, and you may feel that you simply can’t go on without them, but you will. And the reason I believe you will is that loving makes us stronger. Through sharing our hearts and hopes, we expand our capacity to care. Don’t feel ashamed by your emotions, don’t think that you have to close yourself off and never discuss or remember the creature who brought you so much pleasure, for what would be the point of the pain if we didn’t sometimes allow ourselves a shred of happiness?

If you are reading this because you think that previous bereavements have been too much to bear and that you cannot risk more hurt, then please remember all the cats I’ve lost over the years. If I had taken that approach, I would never have known Casper; I would never have had the strength to bring him into my life. If that had happened, there would have been thousands upon thousands of people who would never have known his story and taken joy from it. Grief and the fear of being hurt again can be powerful emotions, which can prevent us from doing what our hearts truly desire. If you love animals, don’t deny yourself the love and company they bring.

One person emailed me a beautiful poem, written by her eleven-year-old son, who had wanted to let me know how Casper had affected him This is what he sent me:

Yet again I was in floods of tears as I read it but they were tears of happiness and acceptance too. Casper had changed my life, but he had left it. I’d never be the same again, nor would many, many people who had been touched by him What a marvellous legacy for anyone, never mind one little fluffy rescue cat.

It is many weeks now since Casper died, even though it feels like yesterday. I still miss him so much. You never mend really and the hurt doesn’t go away but you adapt somehow We have been left with a huge void despite the other cats, whom I love dearly. I’ve never wanted Casper’s death to be in vain. All I could think of to begin with was of the many animals out there who desperately need help. There will come a time when I do share again, when I feel that there is more love to go around, but at the moment my memories of Casper and those who went before him are enough.

For now.

There are so many little things that I miss about you, Casper. I would love to be able to write you a poem, but that isn’t my talent. All I can do is speak from the heart, the heart that still has your paw prints firmly stamped upon it.

Even though between my children, sisters, brother and myself we have twenty-one rescue cats under our care, I miss the comfort I felt hearing the jingle of your collar disks as you trotted along, knowing that you were safe and couldn’t be too far away if I could hear the sound.

I miss not having to put every scrap of food away in the kitchen, as you were such a dreadful thief. I’d happily have you take whatever you wanted all day long just to have the joy of you back in my life again.

I miss you sitting on the worktop watching me make meals, desperately hoping that a tasty morsel would find its way to you – as it somehow always did.

I miss the way you always had the energy and love to run up and greet me when I got home, no matter how late or early it was, no matter what had been going on in your day or mine.

I miss seeing you sit on the dustbin by the front window, watching the world go by as if there were no finer place to be and no finer pageant to watch.

I miss looking out the bedroom window and laughing as I spotted you sitting in the queue with the other passengers waiting for the bus as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

I miss buying your treats and the closeness as we sat on the sofa together in the evening, content with the world, content with the simple pleasures of life.

What would I give to have one last cuddle? So much, so much – but life goes on, and nothing can bring you back, so I can only make a promise to you, which is to recognize all that you gave me and spread your message.

What did I learn from Casper?

Enjoy life.

Take pleasure in the simple things – sunshine, turkey roll and a bus ride might not be what works for you, so find your own recipe for a good life and stick to it.

Find something you love to do and keep doing it.

Believe that the world is a good place full of good people, and you might just find out that you’re right.

That last piece of advice might surprise some people because, were it not for a bad thing done by a thoughtless person, Casper would be here today. However, he taught me something else: good can come from bad. The last few years have been hard ones, but in the middle of it all, it was almost as if Casper decided that he was going to give something to us. His spirit of adventure and love of travel meant that, somehow, he reached out to the world and the world responded. His life brought out something in people – but his death brought out even more. I would never have known how kind strangers could be, how much comfort you could get from someone you’d never met, but each day brings another letter, more caring words, and it’s as if Casper is speaking to me, telling me to hold on, to be brave and to keep his memory alive.

So, thank you, Casper, thank you so much – until we meet again.

My sincere thanks to Linda Watson-Brown, who was so patient with me and helped me to write such a lovely book. To all the staff at Simon & Schuster UK, who made the book possible in the first place. To all at First Group, especially Karen Baxter and the Number 3 bus drivers, who took such great care of Casper when he took his bus trips.