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

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:

Casper was a lovely cat

As proud as proud can be.

How I wish I could have seen

Him on the number 3.

Each day he had a journey

Which took him near and far

Always on his favourite bus

Not by paw or car!

I would have loved to meet him

I’d hold him and I’d say:

‘Oh Casper, you are beautiful,

Please don’t go out today.’

I’d keep him close beside me

And when that car went by,

I’d be so happy Casper lived

That day he did not die.

For I have lost my own dear cats

And still I miss them so

Each day I think about them

And wish they did not go.

But cats are independent

We have to let them stray

And cross our fingers that they will

Come back to us one day.

This is what I pray for you

Though the tears still burn

Love will find its way back home

And Casper will return.

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.

Epilogue

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.