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

I have cried for such a long time over the story of your Casper’s death – I thought this was terribly wrong of me for a while, and feel rather silly, but now realize just why he has touched me so much. My family moved over here from England when I was fourteen, and although I loved the sunshine and opportunities, England still felt like home. I loved going home for Christmas – which we tried to do every year, even when I was a teenager and had long since started college. We stayed with a variety of aunts and uncles all over the country, in farms and in towns, and they all had one thing in common. Cats. We had a dog back in America, and I loved him dearly, but there was something about cats that just said ‘home’ to me. I have many happy memories of curling up on Christmas Day with one of the family pets, wherever we were staying, and probably missed them more than my human relations! As soon as I was old enough to marry and have my own home, I got a kitten. My husband I have now been married for over twenty years and have three children, and both of us ex-pats have always made sure there’s a cat waiting to greet us when we get home. They’ve all had terribly English names over the years – we currently have Percy and Mabel – and I do wonder whether they are the only things keeping us here. If it wasn’t for the thought of them in quarantine, I would be pushing to come home, because there was something in Casper’s story that made me so homesick. Was it the buses, or the idea of people waiting in a queue with a little cat? I’m not sure, but when I read that he had died, I felt that part of my dream of home had died too. I hope that you are coping and I hope that your sad loss does not prevent you getting another cat. You are in my thoughts.

Casper had seemed like part of home to me too, and it was terribly empty, but the letters kept on coming. Many people offered such reassurances, despite being strangers with absolutely nothing to gain from offering such kindness. It has made me reconsider so many things, and I take that as a lesson from Casper. The experience with my son, Greg, and his gran had shown me that strange things can happen and I now feel that there is often something to be gained from even the darkest times.

That’s not to say that his death doesn’t still hurt. There are moments when I experience pain where I haven’t expected it. For example, I still look out at the dustbins thinking I’ll see him there. For the first few days after he died, there was a plastic carrier bag wedged under the hedge across the road. My mind played tricks on me in my grief, and I sometimes thought it was him. Acceptance is so hard.

If I heard Cassie’s disks jingling, it would be so wonderful. It would be just what I needed to convince me that animals have souls, but until then I’m still not sure. His personality and character and what he left behind have certainly left their mark, but perhaps I’m still too emotionally raw to take it to the next stage and think about whether he is still, in some way, looking after me.