Casper the Commuting Cat: The True Story of the Cat Who Rode the Bus and Stole Our Hearts (19 page)

As Ed mentioned, I had decided to put up a notice in the bus shelter with a picture of Casper so that all his fellow passengers would know that he would no longer be taking any trips with them. I wrote:

The news of Casper’s sad end was spreading quickly. Newspapers were picking up on Edd’s report and tributes started flooding into Facebook from all over the world after a Casper page was set up. It was staggering. There was such an outpouring of affection and grief. So many people were reaching out to me even though I had no idea who they were. I was extremely touched, but also very emotional every time I read the kind words.

The comments went on and on. So many people had read about Casper and so many people were grieving. They felt the loss too. Commentators often say that as the world gets smaller through technology, we’re losing our sense of neighbourliness and contact with others. This may indeed be the case in some instances, but I found that, through the Internet, I had thousands of friends I never knew existed. When I needed to dwell on the space Casper had left in my world, all I had to do was log on and there were comments from new people who wanted to reach out and offer me words of condolence. Again, Casper had achieved something incredible.

The story was covered in all the British national newspapers and I received personal letters from editors and journalists across the country. As the days passed, the global phenomenon that was Casper gained pace, but I felt cheated. Many of the tributes were so beautiful, but I wished they had not been necessary. Casper had been snatched from us so unfairly and so quickly. If he’d been ill, maybe I would have been more prepared for his death. I was always hurt by the loss of any of my cats, but Casper was such an amazing boy that his death hit me hard. I knew that the interest would fade and I would be left with my memories. Casper had blessed me with so many beautiful ones, and I was desperately trying to hold onto that, but the pain was raw and I didn’t know how I was going to cope in the future without him.

People tried to be kind, but I didn’t know what to say to them. Many asked what had happened to Cassie, and I couldn’t understand what they meant for a while. He’d died. He’d been killed. What else was there to say? But then I realized that they were asking what had happened to what was left of him – to his remains, I suppose. As I’ve already explained, I never bury my cats in the garden because I would hate for them to be left alone when I move. Some enquired whether I’d kept Casper’s ashes. I categorically had not. All of my pets are treated the same way when they leave my life. Casper was special, but I wasn’t going to favour him over any of the others. The only thing that soothes me is the hope that they are all together in Heaven.

I have to take such salves wherever I find them, or the hurt would never go away. Very soon after Casper died, I heard of the rainbow bridge for the first time. When there has been a particularly close connection between an animal and a person, the animal crosses the rainbow bridge to wait for the person when they pass over. One website describes it beautifully, although sadly they say that the author of these words is unknown. I’d love to tell them how helpful these lines are.

Some of the newspaper stories about Casper’s death commented on this idea and my closest friend, Alice, in Cumbria sent me an email explaining the whole concept. The more I think of it, the more it makes sense. I smile when I think of those waiting for me – there will be a stampede, given all the animals I’ve had over the years!

I don’t automatically believe in things like that. I like to have things proven to me beyond doubt, but something happened over twenty years ago that removed some of my cynicism I’ve returned to the memory of it many times since Casper’s death, as it is the closest to proof of an afterlife I have ever come across.

In 1987, my son Greg was in a horrendous car crash. He wasn’t expected to survive – in fact, I was asked for permission to donate his kidneys, as it was assumed he would die very soon. He’d never been christened as a child, and this bothered me. My relationship with his father had been so bad that it had simply never happened. Now that he was facing the worst prognosis, I was suddenly stricken with panic that the blessing had never taken place. Greg was on life support for a week, and during this time Chris and I arranged for the christening to take place.

After the service, things still looked bleak and the doctors said that Greg would be taken off the life support machine to see which way it went. Everything was very negative. I was told that when the body closes down, the last thing to go is hearing so I was encouraged to talk and reassure him constantly. Incredibly, Greg rallied and began his long journey to recovery. The trauma he had suffered was awful. Although we were delighted he had survived, he became terribly violent. He attacked me on a number of occasions, although I don’t think he even knew who I was when it happened. He broke my teeth on one visit. He was so unpredictable that he ended up being cared for in an Army hospital by soldiers, even although he wasn’t in the Services himself.

I was terrified of my own child. Greg was such a big chap anyway, covered in tattoos and much taller than me. I was with him as much as I possibly could be but I must admit that I started to dread the times I was with him as I never knew what would happen. He got to the stage where little could be done for him he had hip problems, damage to his back, a fractured skull and so much more. He was placed in a psychiatric unit and I honestly thought that would be the end of him Greg was surrounded by people who were suicide risks and I felt it was only a matter of time before he would be influenced by them Chris and I were trying to make his life worth living, but we were fighting a losing battle.

One morning, I approached Greg’s bed with a heavy heart only to be greeted by the sight of him sitting up with a smile on his face. ‘Hi Mum,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ I was shocked; he’d changed overnight.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked. ‘What’s going on?’

Greg told me that it was time for things to get back on track and he’d remembered what his grandma had said to him His grandma, I wondered? She’d been dead for a year.

‘I saw her, you know,’ he said to me. ‘I saw my grandma.’

‘Did you, love?’ I replied gently, playing along.

Greg laughed softly. ‘I’m not mad. I know she’s dead, but I saw her when I was in hospital.’

‘When was this?’

‘Back when they took me off the life support machine,’ he answered. ‘I was walking along a tunnel with a bright light when I saw her. I thought she was waiting for me, but she wasn’t. She told me to go; she said it wasn’t time. I did as I was told, Mum I came back.’

We’ve never spoken about it since. I was so relieved that Greg was back to some semblance of normality and that the dark days were over. He has had a terrible time since then, trying to build his body and his life back up again, but that day on the psychiatric ward I saw a complete transformation and I believe that was because he remembered the miracle that had happened. Greg isn’t the sort of person who believes in angels and spirits, and that, in itself, made me think it must be true. I think I’ve always been almost scared of truly believing in such things.

I didn’t want to accept that Cassie was dead. I am open to the possibility that there is more to this world than we know, and I would be delighted if Casper could prove that to me. I’ve heard that some people believe that if an animal dies unexpectedly – meaning they weren’t expecting it to happen – then their soul gets ‘stuck’. They can’t move on until they accept that they are no longer in this world. When they do finally accept it, strange things can happen. I’ve heard of people who suddenly acquire a cat with no intention of doing so, as it somehow reminds them of the one they have lost. Or they look at a dozen rescue pets, feel none is right, then one little creature turns up on their doorstep and it’s as if the decision has been taken out of their hands. I wonder whether a part of the soul of that other cat is with them? Have they been sent to look after the bereaved owner? A hundred questions like that go through my mind. Some days I take comfort in them; other days I give myself a telling off for thinking such nonsense. Only time will tell whether I will receive any sort of message from Casper, but I hope I do.