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

CHAPTER 20

Nine Lives and Counting . . .

The road had always been my greatest fear. Although Tuppence and Peanut were very good and tended to stick to the gardens when they did go out, Casper was different. Despite speed bumps being put in place, they didn’t seem to make any difference on Poole Park Road and cars drove along at a terrible rate. There were buses every ten minutes or so, and those were obviously Casper’s main interest. Every time I heard an engine, I’d worry.

After Casper’s story hit the headlines, my worry was tempered a little. Now that so many people knew about him and his antics, they were watching out for him I fervently hoped that this would prompt them to drive carefully along the road just in case ‘that cat’ was on his travels.

After his brush with fame, I started to watch Casper more closely to try to build up a picture of what he got up to, but apart from his bus travels, he didn’t go that far. When he wasn’t in the bus shelter or on the bus, he spent most of his time in the garden watching the world go by. However, his obsession with vehicles was showing no sign of abating and I worried that he would go off in a van or a car given half the chance.

One morning in mid-November, one of the smaller buses on our local route broke down opposite the house. This wasn’t one of the First vehicles that Casper loved so much, but I was worried that he would take too much of an interest in it. Immediately, I sensed there could be trouble. Casper was so nosy that he got up from his watching spot straight away and went over to the shelter. I kept an eye on him for a while, just to make sure he was still there. He was sitting perfectly still with the driver, who must have been waiting for assistance.

After a little while, two breakdown trucks came and I thought to myself, here comes trouble. I kept trying to coax him back with his favourite turkey roll, but it had no appeal compared to the motor show he was watching from the bus shelter. Eventually, after I’d been swinging slices of the stuff around for ages, he ambled across as if he was doing me an enormous favour. I closed the door quickly behind him and determined to keep him in until everyone had left.

Somehow – and I was never quite sure how Casper achieved this so frequently – he managed to escape. He must have got out the back, as the front exit and windows were completely sealed, but there was nothing I could do because, by the time I noticed he’d gone, the broken-down bus had been towed away, the breakdown trucks were gone and Casper wasn’t waiting at the bus stop.

I started to panic as the day wore on and there was no sign of him trotting home. ‘Where are you, Casper?’ I kept asking, even though there was no one to hear me. I started to worry that he had gone off in one of the vehicles. Remembering that the broken-down bus had belonged to a company called Target, I got the number of their head office in Cornwall and asked for help.

‘Please,’ I begged, ‘please can you keep a lookout for my cat?’ I told them what he was like, how much he loved cars, lorries, buses, anything, and described to them the scene earlier when he had been so intent on watching the breakdown people. I asked if they could ask anyone who might have been there that day, and they suggested that I email a photo so that if he did turn up in the yard they would know it was Casper.

The afternoon turned into evening and still there was no sign of him I started to wonder if he had got on a First bus and become confused, so I rang Rob in customer services, as he had always been so helpful. I was frantic by the time I asked him to please put out another notice asking the drivers to be alert for Cassie. He couldn’t have been more obliging and typed up the poster as we talked.

Nothing happened and I spent the whole evening running between the front and back doors, calling his name, desperate to hear his little collar tinkle. By midnight, I was exhausted and knew that I had to go to bed. I suspected that he was well and truly lost, but there was nothing I could do in the dark and I would need my strength come daylight, when I would search for him until I could walk no more.

I opened the front door one last time and there he was. I cuddled him, scolded him, kissed him – every emotion was swirling around in relief that he was finally home. He seemed exhausted and I noticed that his pads were burning hot. ‘Oh Casper,’ I cried, ‘what’s happened to you, my darling?’

I’d always been so worried that something awful would occur and now it looked as if it had. When I took him into the light, I could see that his pads were bright red and all I could think was that he had indeed got on the broken-down bus or one of the breakdown trucks and then was spooked. Perhaps he realized that he was on an unfamiliar route or got a fright at some point, but I think he must have got off somewhere he didn’t recognize and then spent the day walking home.

Usually when he came back, he went straight for something to eat, but this time he flaked out on the floor as if he couldn’t move a muscle. He was flat out as I brought some food to him He struggled to lift his head so that he could eat lying down, but he was so weak that he could barely do even that.

It was a terribly close incident; it was only his amazing homing instinct that had brought Casper back to me. He remained tired for a while, and though his pads recovered, he seemed reluctant to go out for a few days.

His tendency to go walkabout remained undiminished, however. On another occasion, one of the First drivers asked me when I was going to work whether Casper had got home all right the day before. I said he had, but what had made him ask? ‘Well,’ he said, ‘he got on as usual but someone must have scared him or thrown him off the seat, because he got off at a stop that wasn’t one of his usual ones.’

He got home in one piece then but I was starting to feel as if every time Casper went out that might be the last time I’d see him There was a constant fear that he would jump in a delivery van and the driver would unwittingly take him away without even knowing he was there.

I tried so hard to discourage him from crossing the road, but how can you stop an animal who has his independence? I don’t know what his life was like before we got him, but perhaps he was always on roads. Cats are so free spirited; our fears may just be the price we have to pay for their companionship. I’d have to lock Casper in and tie him up to stop him from going out – and, believe me, I’ve been tempted.

Casper broke the cat flap twice; he completely smashed it while I was at work I got home to find a scene of mayhem and a missing cat, which proved to me how determined he was when he put his mind to things. It was as if he couldn’t bear to be a prisoner. Given that he was so light-footed, there were times when he managed to sneak past me without me having the slightest notion that he had done so. I’d be sitting quite happily on the sofa, thinking how well I’d done to keep Casper in that day, when he’d stroll in without a care in the world, his dirty fur and hunger proving that he had been out all day when I’d thought he was upstairs sleeping like a good boy.

One summer, when it felt as if the traffic on the road outside was even faster than usual, I decided to make a concerted effort to keep him in. However, it was so hot that I needed to open windows to let some air in. What was I going to do?

The stuffiest room seemed to be our bedroom. I thought that if I could get a little breeze in there during the day, Chris and I might have a better chance of sleeping at night. I went to the garden centre and got some pieces of trellis that I rigged up so the windows could be opened but Casper couldn’t get near the small part that I worried he would squeeze through. I should have known he would see it as a challenge not a barrier. By the end of the first day, he had wiggled his way through somehow, jumped out of the window and onto the roof, leaped down onto the dustbins below and trotted across the road.

He always found a way to get out – he was such a little escape artist. Unless I fitted this cat with a tracking device, I would never be able to keep an eye on him twenty-four hours a day – even then, I bet he would have found a way to get round it. Casper didn’t just enjoy being a wanderer, he seemed to need his freedom desperately. Perhaps it was a legacy from his life before us, but it was causing me more sleepless nights than ever.