Casper The Commuting Cat: The True Story Of The Cat Who Rode The Bus And Stole Our Hearts

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together . . .

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?’