Casper the Commuting Cat: The True Story of the Cat Who Rode the Bus and Stole Our Hearts (10 page)

When he did bring her home to me, it took a while for me to pluck up courage to look at her but I hope what I found will be of comfort to others. It was quite amazing. There were no marks whatsoever on Bonnie, no indication that she was anything other than asleep.

I rang the vet to ask whether I could bring her in to be cremated and took her as soon as I could pull myself together. It was the last thing I could do for Bonnie; it’s the last thing I can do for all my darling cats. I’ve never buried any of them in the garden but perhaps the reason I don’t will seem silly. We move house so often that I’d feel I was deserting them – again. They would be left there alone, and the many souls we’ve shared our lives with would be without each other. I think it’s better to know in advance what I will do when the sad day of farewell arrives. Each of them is treated in the same way and I can only hope that we will meet again one day. I try to help them, and I always love them, but sometimes my heart hurts from the loss.

When I married Chris, he’d lived in the same place all his life. He must have got quite a shock when he ended up with me, because I would move every month given half the chance. Perhaps it was because I’d been uprooted as such a young child, and never really felt settled, that I never felt the pull of one location or the sense that I never wanted to leave. I’ve loved all the homes we’ve set up together, but I’m not overly sentimental about them, because I know that a loving environment can be created anywhere and it has little to do with bricks and mortar. As long as I have my cats, I’m happy.

Although the children left long ago, and I’m now a grandmother, part of me still wants to create a perfect home – only now I’d be doing it for my kitties. So it was no surprise to anyone when I announced that I was looking for another place. Another move was on the cards – this time to Plymouth. I felt like a change of scenery, as I so often did. How could Chris and I have possibly known that this would be the place where one of our cats would become internationally recognized?

Casper was moving to a place that in many ways epitomizes English spirit and history. Plymouth is a beautiful city with a heritage stretching back more than a thousand years to Saxon times. The links between the land and the sea have played a large part in its history, with the city established on moorland to the north and the English Channel to the south. Rivers run through and across it, and its name comes from the River Plym to the east.

Farming land and communities at the mouth of the Plym can be traced to the Domesday Book of 1086. One farm mentioned there – Sudtone, which means South Farm – developed into Sutton Harbour, which became the centre of medieval Plymouth. For almost eight hundred years cargo has been leaving Plymouth, which became an important, busy and wealthy place as time went on. In 1254 its town status was recognized by Royal Charter, and in 1439 Plymouth was the first town in England to be granted a Charter by Parliament.

Trade blossomed, not only with other areas of England, but also across Europe. The times were not without their troubles, however. As frequent wars with France brought attacks on the town, barriers and fortifications were built; some of these can still be seen to this day. Plymouth’s growth sprung from a combination of maritime development, trade and military importance.

Plymouth became enshrined in world history when Sir Francis Drake masterminded the defeat of the Spanish Armada and then the first ever circumnavigation of the globe from the town. Indeed, the familiar story of Drake casually playing bowls as the Armada sailed up the Channel in 1588 is said to have taken place on Plymouth Hoe. For many people, Plymouth is most celebrated for being the site from which the pilgrims who were persecuted for their religious beliefs in the early seventeenth century left for the New World on the
Mayflower
in the hope of finding freedom and tolerance, and established their own Plymouth community.

This remarkable history continued for centuries. I like to think that the spirit of adventure and love of travel that is so much a part of the city is what made Casper so loved. In him, the people of Plymouth recognized one of their own. He may not have been born there, he may not have lived there all his life, but he adopted the character of that fine old English city.

After much searching, we found a house we liked and moved to a place called St Budeaux, an area named after a bishop from Brittany (Saint Budoc) who founded a settlement here around 480
AD
. A small church was built, which was eventually dedicated to Saint Budoc. The village was taken over during the Norman Conquest. Like so much of Plymouth, St Budoc was mentioned in the Domesday Book – as a village known as Bucheside – and valued at the princely sum of thirty shillings, which was quite a lot of money in those days. Over the next few centuries, the name changed frequently before becoming St Budeaux. The area became well known in the sixteenth century when Sir Francis Drake married a local woman (Lady Drake was buried in the churchyard).

During the Civil War, St Budeaux and the surrounding villages swore their allegiance to the Parliamentarian cause and the church was attacked by the forces of Royalist Cornwall and used as a garrison. It was almost destroyed by the end of the war, and not fully rebuilt for many years.

As time went on, the parish grew in size. Growth increased with the construction of the Royal Albert Bridge and the development of roads throughout the nineteenth century. In 1899 St Budeaux combined with the town of Devonport, and by the start of the First World War it was amalgamated into the city of Plymouth. The Second World War resulted in many homes being bombed, and, once this period had ended, there was a huge rebuilding programme. There are many ex-forces houses in the area. St Budeaux is typical of many places in England – a mixture of housing, local shops, schools and community centres. It is very ordinary and very normal.

I think that is why so many people have been drawn to Casper. Had he been a grand cat from some posh country estate, or a pedigree cat who was groomed and pampered to within an inch of his life, would there have been so much interest? I don’t think so. Casper was everyone’s cat. He was an ordinary little moggy loved and beautiful, but the sort of boy who reminded people of their own cats. I like to think that, as they read or heard Casper’s story, they looked at their own pets and wondered what they got up to. Or perhaps they wondered where Tiddles was when they were laughing about Casper’s bus ride, then suddenly realized that maybe Tiddles was up to the very same thing.

Casper was an extraordinary cat, while at the same time he was a very ordinary one. His adventures made people smile, and they were a novelty, but they were also not so far-fetched that others couldn’t imagine their own cats getting up to similar naughtiness. This, I believe, was Casper’s charm. Everyone could love him, and everyone could remember their own cats – past or present – getting up to all sorts just like him.

As I settled into the new house in Poole Park Road, all of this was ahead of me – and him. I had no way of knowing that bringing Casper to Plymouth was going to be a match made in heaven and that Plymouth would take Casper to its heart. I unpacked boxes, kept an eye on the cats, met new neighbours and had no idea what was around the corner.

I managed to get a job working in a nursing home with elderly people. I still couldn’t drive but luckily there was a bus stop directly opposite our new house. I noticed that Casper was all too keen on crossing the busy road, but there was only so much I could do about it. If I had a day off, I would try to keep an eye on him and make sure he was close to me, but on the days I worked, he was left to his own devices. Given that I was never able to keep him in against his wishes, there wasn’t much I could do to force him to stay indoors all day, but I did usually try to get him in before I left.

I’ve always kept up a running commentary with my cats and I would give Casper rules every day in the hope that he might finally pay attention to them. Now, Cassie,’ I would chide, ‘that’s a very busy road out there and it’s also very new to you. I don’t want you going out there at all, but I know that you’re going to ignore me, so I hope that at least you’ll try to be safe. Look out for traffic, and only go across when it’s all quiet.’

He always had a way of looking at me as if I were quite ridiculous – not to be talking to a cat, but to be considering that he might follow my instructions. He was a cat of leisure and a cat who wandered where he pleased. Why on earth would he be restricted because that was my preference? Still, I persevered with my words of warning in the hope that one day he would take pity on me and do as he was told.

One day in the summer of 2009, I was running a little late. Things had taken longer than usual that morning and everything had resulted in me being in rather a hurry. I gathered my things together and prepared to rush off to work. I knew that my bus was due, but I couldn’t get Casper indoors. ‘Casper! Casper!’ I shouted outside, knowing full well that he was darting under bushes and shrubs every time I looked for him ‘Come here, now!’ I was getting more and more desperate for him to come in, as I was worried that, should he see me leave, he would follow me.

It was no use. He wasn’t going to come indoors and I was going to have to leave him outside for the day. The clock was ticking and I would miss my bus at this rate. Indeed, as I closed the front door behind me, I could see the bus I needed coming up the hill towards the stop – but I could also see Casper with his beady little eyes on me. It was a constant mystery to me how he could keep himself hidden until it was too late for me to take him back in, and he’d done it yet again. I was torn, but knew that I had to decide between going for him (and watching as he no doubt managed to evade me yet again), missing my bus and being late for work or heading off. I chose the latter. Casper watched me closely as I ran across the road.

I jumped onto the bus that had just arrived and breathlessly said to the driver, ‘Can you go quickly, please?’

‘Why, what’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I’m a bit worried about my cat,’ I told him ‘He’s a terrible one for crossing roads and I can see him watching me. It would be a nightmare if he came over here while I was getting on the bus.’

‘Is that right?’ he smiled.

‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘so, please, do hurry.’

With those words, I sat in the seat behind the driver but on the other side. It was very close to him and I could see him clearly. He didn’t seem in any rush to leave, despite what I’d told him, and he was still smiling. I couldn’t quite believe what he said to me next, as I looked anxiously out of the window for Casper.

‘The only thing you’ve got to worry about,’ he laughed, ‘is that you’re sitting in his seat!’

He must be joking, I thought.

‘What? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he replied, although he was still grinning. ‘You live across the road there?’ I nodded. ‘You’ve got a fluffy black and white cat?’ I nodded again. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you – he likes buses, and he particularly likes that seat you’re in, as that’s where he naps pretty much every day when he goes on his jaunt!’

I had to get this straight.

‘My cat – my Casper – comes on the bus? He jumps up onto a seat? He lies there, asleep, while you drive around? And I knew nothing about this?’

‘No, not really . . .’ he said, as I waited for the punchline. ‘He isn’t always asleep – sometimes he looks out the windows, sometimes he sits on a lap or two, sometimes he sits up the back.’

‘And what do the other passengers say?’ I asked.

‘They accept it. Why wouldn’t they? He’s no bother – he’s a lot easier than some of the people I get on this bus,’ he chuckled. ‘Never pays his fare though!’

I still thought he was having me on. I’d know if my cat was travelling on the bus – wouldn’t I?

I spent the rest of the journey to work in a bit of a spin. I was torn between thinking this was just a joke but also knowing that Casper did like vehicles, he did cross the road a lot and he did disappear for hours on end. Could this possibly be true? Was my cat really a day-tripper?

My head was full of what the driver had told me, and I had no idea what to do. By the end of my shift, I had a clearer idea, but how was I to know what I was about to unleash?

I went to work but spent the rest of the day in a real state. The bus driver had seemed genuine. If he’d been spinning me a tale, I don’t think he would have kept it going. Surely, once he thought I’d fallen for it, he would have let me in on the joke and admitted he was messing about? He didn’t seem to have any malice in him; he appeared simply to be passing on some information that I didn’t know I didn’t mention it to anyone at work, and decided to wait until Chris called that evening to try to figure out what was going on.

When he rang from his stopoff point, my words sounded bizarre even to me. I told him what the driver had said and asked him what I should do. ‘Well, do you believe him?’ he questioned. ‘Do you think Casper is getting on the bus, just as he says?’

That was the odd thing: the more I thought about it, the more I could see it was plausible. ‘I think he might be doing exactly that,’ I confessed. ‘He’s always crossing that road and I’ve seen him hanging about the shelter. He disappears for hours on end, and despite me trying to call him back or dangle turkey roll, he never appears. Then, all of a sudden, there he is. Chris, I think the driver might be telling the truth.’