Susan Finden - Casper the Commuting Cat - The True Story of the Cat Who Rode the Bus and Stole Our Hearts

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.

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

It didn’t take long for people to start offering me ‘new’ cats. I’m sure that many of them meant well, but there was no way I could bring another cat into my life within days of Casper dying. It wouldn’t have been fair on the new arrival as I was still grieving, and I would have felt I was betraying Casper. He couldn’t be replaced so quickly or easily – no cat could. They’re all individuals with their own characters.

Apart from that, I was also left with a terrible fear of the road. I’d always worried that Casper would be run over as he went about his daily adventures, but now the worst had happened, what was to stop another cat being killed? Although I have loved all my cats dearly and would never have been without the experience each of them has brought me, I can’t deny that every loss takes a little piece of my heart. We all have an enormous capacity to love, but losing so many beautiful animals has made me realize just how high the emotional cost is.