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

by Susan Finden

  Maybe it was no wonder that Casper took so long to come out of his hiding place; he must have wondered what mad cat world he had come into. Maybe he’d imagined his new home would be quiet, with only him and Tuppence in it. Instead, he had been transplanted somewhere full of cats and he was going to make us wait until he was ready before we were allowed to feel he had well and truly settled in.

  Casper was joining a distinguished extended family of rather naughty cats. Whisky came to mind whenever I thought of all the cheeky things we’d witnessed over the years. She hadn’t been with us for long before she got up to nonsense. We prepared for Christmas when she was about four months old, setting up a huge real Christmas tree, laden with baubles on its strong branches. One day I went to work as usual, but when I got back I found the tree lying on its side in the sitting room with all the decorations spread on the floor, and what seemed like a million pine needles festooning the place. Sitting beside the tree was a little black ball of fluff looking terribly innocent – Whisky. As I got closer to her, I noticed an odd bulge in her mouth and then saw the green cable stuck between her lips. Our angelic looking little Whisky had a Christmas tree light in her mouth – thank goodness I’d unplugged the lights before going to work. From then on, we’ve always had artificial Christmas trees, but the cats in our lives have never run short of mischievous things to do.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sue’s Story

  I’ve always loved cats. Often upsetting events in people’s lives can make their bond with other creatures even stronger, and I had one particularly sad experience that I believe strengthened the close ties I felt with animals.

  When I was a little girl, I lived in the Middle East, as my father worked as an electrical engineer in an oil refinery. Lots of British workers went there during the 1940s and 1950s. Dad set off to make a life for us when I was five. It was company policy for the men to settle for a few years before they went through the expense and upheaval of bringing the families out too, so I stayed in Britain with my mum and younger sister, Lesley.

  However, while Dad was away, Lesley developed cancer. At the time, I was only aware that she was ill and my mum was very upset. Children in those days weren’t given much information about things that weren’t considered to be their business; perhaps this was a way of protecting us. Whatever the reason, Lesley’s illness had repercussions for all of us. As well as the huge emotional impact of her eventual death, there were practical implications too. The company my dad worked for relaxed their usual regulations and we were allowed to join him quicker than would normally have been allowed.

  I was eight by then. Although for a while I thought I had emerged relatively unscathed from losing Lesley, I know now that wasn’t the case. At the time, I had no other siblings. Whatever happens in your childhood does have a lasting impact. My early years were affected by Lesley’s terrible pain and tragic death, by my father’s absence and by the fact that my mother’s time was spent caring for Lesley and trying to hold everything together on her own under the most difficult of circumstances.

  After Lesley died, there was a sense that we were starting afresh, so my mum and I packed up and prepared to leave the UK. There was some continuity though. When we moved to Bahrain, we took our cat, Blackie, with us. He was really my mum’s cat, and I recall her pouring out her heart and soul to him all through Lesley’s illness. I remember him very well. I used to take him into my bedroom for cuddles, but he always listened for my mum and ran to her if she called him I realized from that early age that animals do have a sixth sense for giving what they can to whoever needs them for whatever reason.

  I also saw how good Blackie was with Lesley. She was very ill just before she died, and the cat seemed to sense that, staying with her throughout and always being there whenever she could weakly manage to reach out to stroke him. I saw at first hand the connection a person could have with an animal. My mum really depended on Blackie – for some semblance of normality, I guess. Perhaps I see more with maturity, but even as a child I knew there could be something special and I carried that with me. My mum has been dead for a few years now, and I’ve had children (and grandchildren) myself, but the experiences of those early years have stayed with me and the impact Blackie made was strong.

  When we moved to Awali, a municipality within the kingdom of Bahrain, it was to a sort of encampment with fencing that was ten feet high to keep the wild dogs out. There were lots of other families, mainly American, British and Australian, and I was never short of other children to play with. The heat was terribly dry and it took weeks to get used to it, but once that happened, it was perfectly normal to see gangs of dozens of children playing cowboys and Indians in temperatures of over 100 degrees fahrenheit.

  It was a strange time, although perhaps I didn’t realize it then. My dad took it upon himself to provide us with a lawn, despite the fact that we were living in the middle of the desert. Every day he would drive down to the beach and bring back a few clumps of grass. Of course, it was beach grass, not the lush green meadow type of covering we’re used to in England. He would carefully dig little holes in our garden, plug in the beach grass and water it diligently. Each day he would bring back more, and each day he would claim that his ‘lawn’ was closer to completion. The odd thing was he did eventually manage to create something that resembled a lawn, and everyone referred to it as such.

  When I first went to Awali, I attended a school run by Americans, but education there stopped at eleven years of age. Looking back on it, it seems remarkable that I wasn’t privy to any of the discussions relating to me. Almost without any warning, it was announced that I would be returning to Britain alone to continue my education at boarding school in Guildford. It was a huge shock. My sister was dead, my mum was still grieving and I had three new siblings I barely knew Now I was being shipped back to a country that, for me, was associated with illness and grief. My paternal grandparents were there to take care of me during holidays but I was still incredibly lonely in the knowledge that the rest of my family were thousands of miles away and I was expected to be a grown up.

  There were a couple of occasions when I went back to Awali for the long summer holiday, but it was very expensive; the fact that I went so rarely suggests that my parents felt it cost too much to have me with them when they were paying so much for my education.

  I recall one time flying out on my own from London Airport, as it was then called, on a huge BOAC plane. For some reason, my photograph was in the newspaper, and it looks bizarre to me now, as I was still wearing my school uniform. All I remember about that trip is getting off at Rome for refuelling and going to the bathroom, where I found a tiny little grey and white kitten. I lay on the floor of a half-built toilet in a strange country in all the dust and dirt, and played with the little scrap of a thing until it finally occurred to me that the reason I could hear someone calling my name over and over again was because the lady on the Tannoy was frantically shouting that the plane was waiting for one last passenger and could I please go there IMMEDIATELY!

  I felt terribly lonely. My grandparents, who were Dutch, did all they could to give me a normal home life during holidays, and they were lovely people, but I longed for the day when I would be part of a family again – a family that had cats at the heart of it.

  I made it through boarding school without being terribly academic and ended up with a job in a travel agency. It wasn’t as glamorous as I’d hoped; I’d had visions of spending my days organizing exotic trips for people, whereas the reality was that I made cups of tea in the back for everyone else. I soon left that job and got another in Walton-on-Thames, where I was a window dresser in a ladies’ gown shop. I loved that position until a chap who worked across the road took notice of me. I managed to ignore him until he got his friends to join in Suddenly, the naive and embarrassed teenager in me realized that all the mannequins were naked and I was standing in the middle of them I wished the ground would swallow me up, but I ended up marrying the ringleader instea
d.

  I had been through a lot by then, but I had a vision of how married life would be. I vowed to be the best wife and mother possible, and had a romantic dream of perfect children, a pretty house and, of course, a cuddly kitten to round it all off. I’d spent many happy hours dreaming how idyllic it would be, and animals played a central role in my dream Sadly, it wasn’t to be. The marriage was never right, but as I’m blessed with three wonderful children from those years, I’d never complain. When my husband and I finally separated, I realized that it was time for me to make the world what I wanted to make of it and fulfil my dreams of family life some other way.

  CHAPTER 5

  Love in Unlikely Places

  I was divorced in 1975, two years after my separation. In the meantime, I’d wasted no time in getting a cat. The first one was called Snowy – unsurprisingly, he was a striking white cat. I wouldn’t say that he was pretty to begin with, and he certainly wasn’t affectionate. Snowy tore all over the place like a mad thing and liked nothing better than to go to the toilet in my rubber plant. He was very destructive, but the plant survived – so much so that I was constantly cutting it back, which meant I had to forgive him. Maybe cats are better gardeners than we give them credit for. After I had Snowy neutered, he calmed down a bit and became very loving. He also turned into a very beautiful cat once he was fed regularly and well.

  One day when my daughter Kim was very young, she decided to paint him rainbow colours with her magic markers. I didn’t know whether it was dangerous or not, so, somewhat embarrassed, I took the poor cat to the (rather amused) vet, who told me to let it fade away. It didn’t seem to bother Snowy in the slightest when Kim began dressing him up in her doll’s clothes. He had a lovely nature by this time and never retaliated.

  Since then I’ve heard worse tales of cats having makeup put on them and one little girl even tried to use her mum’s hair straighteners on her cat (thankfully, she hadn’t worked out how to switch them on), so maybe Kim wasn’t too naughty. I do worry about the things children try to do to their pets, but many cats don’t even bother to run away; for some reason they lie there letting things be done to them.

  I was trying to build a life for us, but it was challenging. I was working full time as an auxiliary nurse in a local hospital, which, thankfully, had a crèche for Kim I remember it cost me 36p an hour, which took a massive chunk out of my wages. Anyone reading this needs to remember than 36p then was worth a lot more than it is today, and it was a real financial consideration for me, even if it is only the price of a packet of crisps these days. I was happy working there for two years and I learned a huge amount, not only about the job but also about myself.

  My next job was as a ward clerk on a GP ward in town, which I enjoyed so much that I stuck with it for thirteen years. The ward was run by a matron – the traditional type that has long gone out of fashion. She imposed lots of rules and regulations, as well as incredibly high standards about attitude and hygiene. We may have had our gripes about her back then, but she was a wonderful woman.

  If those sorts of no-nonsense ladies were in charge of NHS hospitals today, I’d wager the infection rates would go down overnight. The sight of nurses wandering around on the streets in their uniforms and then going back onto wards in the same clothes would have made her scream. There are many changes in healthcare that I believe have not been for the good, and the loss of matrons – dragons though they may have been – is one of them. Many of the things she taught me I still remember and apply.

  My working life was going well. The children were at school and Kim no longer screamed every time I went off to work. When the children were older and things were more settled, I met someone. Chris was not only fantastic with the kids, but he also accepted me the way I was. I soon realized that some of the aspects of his character that I complained about were his good points, not his bad ones. When he came round, he would get the children out of their beds, mess about with them and get them into such high spirits that it took me hours to get them settled again. What I eventually realized was that he was giving them such happiness that I would have to pay the price – hyper children at midnight. He was fantastic with all three, and that was one of the things that really warmed me to him.

  His kindness was not of the ‘show-off’ variety – it was genuine and heartfelt. One night when I was feeling rather down, he told me to pop round to his flat to tell him all my complaints, which were nothing particularly interesting but seemed vitally important to me at the time. He persuaded me to have a drink or two, and by the time I left, I was much more unsteady on my feet than when I arrived. It was years later that I discovered Chris had followed me home that night to ensure that I got back safely. He stayed a good bit behind me, never drawing attention to himself, and went back to his flat after he’d seen me get myself safely indoors. That sort of kindness is typical of him When I finally realized how good a man he was, I agreed to marry him.

  We wed just before I turned forty. My main demand when Chris proposed was: love me, love my cats. He said that he wasn’t a cat person, but, unlike my first husband, he was such a warm and giving person that he was more than happy to try. It took very little time for him to be converted and we’ve opened our home to a whole menagerie of felines since then. He is just as indulgent and emotional about every one of them as I am.

  The three children and I moved in with Chris after the wedding, but one family member wasn’t so keen – Snowy. He kept going back to my old house. Chris would patiently trek back for him time after time until we realized that we would have to lock him in until he got the message that this was his new home. Chris became fond of him very quickly, so when I suggested that we get another cat, he was completely supportive.

  It was with lightness in my heart that I contacted the cat rescue centre to find the next addition to our family. They did a home visit to ensure that we were suitable for a rescue cat and then suggested I come along the next day to look at the cats they had. I could hardly sleep that night, I was so excited at the thought that I was starting to build the family I’d always wanted.

  As soon as I walked in to the rescue centre, I was drawn to a tiny, very slim little girl whom we named Ginny, continuing the theme of cats with drink-related names (Snowy’s full moniker was Snowball). She was a beautiful but shy thing of only ten months. She was so dainty – a black and white cat, with four white paws and a white flash on her chest – and very nervous. Ginny had been separated from her brother after a marriage break-up, but this trauma didn’t upset her for long. In fact, she became a bossy and domineering creature, who turned out to be a real mummy’s girl.

  Once she was integrated into her new environment, she made great friends with Snowy, our big fluffy male, who had been living with us for ten years by then (he was back to his original colour after Kim’s colouring attempts years earlier had finally worn off). The relationship that developed between Ginny and Snowy was lovely to watch. They were so different in size and temperament, but Snowy always seemed protective and aware of what she needed.

  Ginny had her idiosyncrasies just like the other cats I’ve had. She’d be walking along the pavement quite happily, then she’d suddenly fall off the edge of the kerb. I felt this had to do with her balance rather than any abuse she’d suffered. Oddly, it never seemed to bother her; she treated it as part of life. She was rather like a drunk person who doesn’t see anything particularly odd in falling down and simply gets up and carries on. I didn’t worry about this aspect of Ginny’s behaviour, as the vet said it appeared to cause her no concern and she was just a wobbly little thing.

  We were lucky to have Ginny with us for a long time. She was a grand old lady of twenty when she died, and she was one of the cats we had when Casper came into our lives. They couldn’t have been more different when it came to settling in. While Ginny had been relatively easy, Casper refused to come out from under that bed.

  Of course, Casper didn’t stay under the bed forever but he was stubborn. In fact,
I think that was the root of the whole problem He wasn’t scared; he wasn’t unsure of his new territory; he was just a bit miffed that he had been uprooted from his home of ten months and brought somewhere new.

  Chris and I tried everything, but that cat was downright sulky. ‘Maybe he wants to go back?’ I said to Chris one day.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he replied. ‘He’s landed on his feet with you. He’ll come round – or at least his stomach will get him out of there eventually.’

  He was right, and the lure of turkey roll finally proved too much to resist – it was always Casper’s downfall. He would be determined to stay outside, set on his travels, but as soon as I dangled a bit of his favourite treat in front of his nose, he couldn’t help himself and rushed back in.

  When he did deign to come out from under the bed, he settled in very well. After a few exploratory peeks and sniffs, he investigated the whole house. He had his own ways. We soon discovered Casper was a bit of a loner. The only one he would mess about with was Tuppence. They’d chase each other up and down the stairs time after time – it sounded like a herd of elephants. It would go on for hours, then, all of a sudden, Casper would get fed up with Tuppence being so boisterous and give him a nip.

  The house was big enough for the cats to have their own space but, even so, I noticed that they tended to gravitate towards each other at naptime – apart from Casper. He would sometimes lie on the same bed or sofa as the others, but always a few feet away, never cuddled up with them. He was a little stand-offish with the other cats, which made sense once we realized how much he enjoyed being with people and how far he’d travel each day to make sure he had contact with as many humans as possible.