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

‘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.

I did look for signs and messages. On the day that Casper died, there was a story in one of the papers about some poor cats who’d been terribly abused. Casper’s tale was on one side of the paper, and on the other there was a shocking report of one hundred Persian kittens who’d been discovered and rescued by animal welfare officers. They were in such a terrible state from the poor care they’d received that they had to be shaved to remove the urine burns.

I couldn’t get those kittens out of my mind. As the days passed after Cassie’s death, I wondered whether this was a sign. Was I being told by someone – something? – that I needed to open my home to one of these poor damaged little animals? Chris told me that if I wanted to get one, I should, but I was torn. It was too soon; it wasn’t time. Casper had only just gone. And yet, and yet . . .

I felt there was a link. I couldn’t settle. I went to the local cat rescue centre and asked what the procedure was for adopting a cat. The woman said there were forms to complete and I’d need a home visit. She then asked if I’d been a cat owner previously. All my good intentions about keeping quiet about Casper were broken in an instant. It all poured out of me and I was terribly upset. The lady said she couldn’t risk the same thing happening to another cat, and I should consider a house pet. At that point, I informed her that I knew exactly what sort of cat I wanted to give a home to – one of the abused Persian kittens I’d seen in the paper. She said I was too late.

‘That happened months ago, but the papers are only picking up on it now We had sixteen of them – two died because of what had been done to them, but the others have all been re-homed to loving families.’

She asked me whether I’d like to look at the other cats they had, but I couldn’t. I still felt that the link was with the Persians because they had shared headlines with Casper.

I went home and still couldn’t settle. If the local cat rescue centre had known the fate of sixteen of the kittens that meant another eighty-four were out there. I spent the next few days searching the Internet, contacting rescue centres all over the country, chasing up comments on websites – all to no avail. Most of the kittens had been re-homed, and some seemed to have just disappeared. I had to accept that this simply wasn’t meant to be. I’d spent a lot of time and energy on what had amounted to a wild goose (or kitten) chase.

Perhaps it was my way of getting through those difficult early days without Casper, or perhaps I really did think there was a message waiting for me. Who knows? Whatever the reason, whatever the answer, I wasn’t going to be given the privilege of looking after one of those poor kittens, so I would have to channel my love elsewhere.

CHAPTER 28

Filling the Gap