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

CHAPTER 27

Discovering the Rainbow Bridge

People tried to be kind, but I didn’t know what to say to them. Many asked what had happened to Cassie, and I couldn’t understand what they meant for a while. He’d died. He’d been killed. What else was there to say? But then I realized that they were asking what had happened to what was left of him – to his remains, I suppose. As I’ve already explained, I never bury my cats in the garden because I would hate for them to be left alone when I move. Some enquired whether I’d kept Casper’s ashes. I categorically had not. All of my pets are treated the same way when they leave my life. Casper was special, but I wasn’t going to favour him over any of the others. The only thing that soothes me is the hope that they are all together in Heaven.

I have to take such salves wherever I find them, or the hurt would never go away. Very soon after Casper died, I heard of the rainbow bridge for the first time. When there has been a particularly close connection between an animal and a person, the animal crosses the rainbow bridge to wait for the person when they pass over. One website describes it beautifully, although sadly they say that the author of these words is unknown. I’d love to tell them how helpful these lines are.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.

There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.

There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigour; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together . . .

Some of the newspaper stories about Casper’s death commented on this idea and my closest friend, Alice, in Cumbria sent me an email explaining the whole concept. The more I think of it, the more it makes sense. I smile when I think of those waiting for me – there will be a stampede, given all the animals I’ve had over the years!

I don’t automatically believe in things like that. I like to have things proven to me beyond doubt, but something happened over twenty years ago that removed some of my cynicism I’ve returned to the memory of it many times since Casper’s death, as it is the closest to proof of an afterlife I have ever come across.

In 1987, my son Greg was in a horrendous car crash. He wasn’t expected to survive – in fact, I was asked for permission to donate his kidneys, as it was assumed he would die very soon. He’d never been christened as a child, and this bothered me. My relationship with his father had been so bad that it had simply never happened. Now that he was facing the worst prognosis, I was suddenly stricken with panic that the blessing had never taken place. Greg was on life support for a week, and during this time Chris and I arranged for the christening to take place.

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.