Casper the Commuting Cat: The True Story of the Cat Who Rode the Bus and Stole Our Hearts (5 page)

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 instead.

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.

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.

Usually one of the ways that new cats coming into the house ingratiate themselves with the already established inhabitants is to clean them as much as possible. I’ve seen this happen so many times. Cats undoubtedly use grooming as a way of making social connections. Sometimes those who have come from rescue centres will spend hours lavishing attention on the cats who have cemented their place in the household. Casper was never part of this – he never cleaned others and they never cleaned him. In fact, he was often a dirty little devil. One day he would go all out washing himself and his white patches would be lovely, sparkling in the light, then he would go for ages without licking a single bit.

‘What a filthy thing you are, Casper,’ I’d scold. On more than one occasion I said to Chris that our new arrival was a typical boy who couldn’t be bothered having a good scrub until it became absolutely unavoidable.

‘Look at the state of you!’ I’d chide. ‘Your white bits are yellow, and your feet are black! Do you want me to give you a bath?’ He’d stare back at me, and I could almost hear him thinking,
‘Just you dare’.
On the few occasions I did take a cloth to him, I was shredded to bits and came to the conclusion that I’d leave him to his own devices. He was a very determined creature in so many ways. This became even more apparent as the days turned into weeks and then months.

Tuppence was the exact opposite. In fact, he washed himself so much, he licked patches of his fur away. When we had KP and Peanut, the sisters, Peanut used to spend all day washing the other cats. She’d travel the whole room and I’d watch some of them following little Peanut with their eyes, waiting for their turn, knowing what a dedicated job she’d do.

Gradually, Casper came into his own. He hid under the bed less and less, but I still kept him and Tuppence indoors. Tuppence had been in the rescue home for two months and Casper for ten, so I didn’t want them to go outside until they fully realized that this was their home and the place they needed to return to when they did escape. I closed off the cat flap and placed litter trays around, but Casper was dead set on getting out – another way in which he showed his determined nature. Eventually, I had to let them out, as Casper in particular was making such a fuss. He never had a proper miaow, just a pathetic little squeak, and I started to melt a bit too easily when he sat at the front door making that sound to get out.

One of our older cats, Clyde, had a bad back, so I’d constructed a ladder for him to manoeuvre his way around. The garden was on different levels, almost sunken in places, and I’d put a plank from the ground to the top of the fence, with lots of smaller pieces of wood going across it. Everyone else would copy, Clyde in order to climb up and walk around the walls.