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

As I pieced everything together, I discovered that he liked to sit in the front seat where I had originally been or the back one where the noise of the engine was loudest. He was always perfectly happy to be stroked, tickled or even picked up by passengers. He was sometimes asleep before they moved off from the bus stop, and, most amusingly of all, he always waited in line. They all said that Casper was never at the front of the queue or the back. He waited between people, in the middle, and the other passengers seemed happy with that too, never pushing past him or jumping the queue. How British is that? We love our queues so much that we even apply the rules to cats. I was astounded.

Some of the drivers said that Casper would often wait in the bus stop but not always get on a bus when it came. It was as if he had his favourites or was waiting for one in particular. They joked that they got quite offended if he decided not to get on theirs, and they’d ask him, ‘What’s wrong with me, then?’ One driver told me that he’d seen Cassie waiting in the shelter many times but he’d never once deigned to get on the bus he was driving – he wondered why he wasn’t one of the chosen ones.

There was one part of the story that I found hard to get my head around. I had thought that Casper was probably staying on the bus for one stop, then jumping off and trotting back home again, but as they told me about his sleeping patterns, I wondered how long his trips were.

The number three went round Barne Barton before coming to St Budeaux. From the stop opposite my house, it travelled along the Wolseley Road to Camels Head, down Saltash Road past HMS Drake, St Levan Gate, Albert Gate, then on to Park Avenue through Devonport, where it would take the trip into the city centre. In the city centre, everyone would get off, the bus would travel up the end of town, turn round and then start the opposite journey all over again. It was quite a trip. ‘Does he get off at St Budeaux Square?’ I asked one driver. It was just over five minutes from where I lived.

‘Are you joking?’ he replied. ‘Casper?’ They all knew his name by now thanks to Rob’s posters. ‘That wouldn’t be far enough for him, would it? Casper likes his little journey.’

‘So, where does he go then?’ I wondered, with my heart sinking. If he went any further than the Square, how would he know how to get home?

‘He does the round trip,’ I was told.

‘He does WHAT?’ I screeched.

‘Oh yes, Casper likes to go into the city centre, then come back again – door-to-door service.’

‘But the bus stops in the city centre, everyone gets off, the driver takes it to the end of the terminus and turns round to the other side of the road before letting anyone else on. Isn’t that what happens?’

‘Yes ... usually,’ came the reply. ‘But Casper’s different, isn’t he?’

I was starting to realize that. ‘In what way?’ I asked.

‘Well, we don’t kick him off, do we? That wouldn’t be right. Anyway, he’s usually asleep – and we know where he wants to go. He’s just coming back to Poole Park Road. We only ask the humans to get off. Casper gets special privileges – as I said, door-to-door service.’

I was speechless – again. Just what sort of creature was I sharing my life with?

CHAPTER 14

The Joys and Rules of Public Transport

Casper

When leaving the house in the morning, ensure that your mum (or other human) doesn’t see where you’re going. Your travels are a personal matter. Humans are terribly inquisitive about what us cats get up to, and it’s only right that we maintain an air of mystery about some of our activities.

You can comply with rule (1) by doing any of the following:

(i) sneak out when the human is doing their head fur, drawing on their faces, choosing what to wear, or one of the many other things they waste their time with each day; or

(ii) allow them to fuss over you for a while, make them think you are settled for the day and, when they wander off saying you’re a ‘good boy, saunter towards the door casually, then run like hell; or

(iii) ignore them totally as they attempt to keep you inside with threats, promises and compliments. This is the most effective – and satisfying –approach.

Cross the road to a bus shelter that has been previously selected for its proximity to home and availability of seating.

After careful perusal of the bus timetable (some secrets are just too precious to share, so please do not expect me to tell you how us felines access that sort of information), decide which vehicle you will grace with your presence that day. It is advised that you vary the times of buses and drivers you select, so as to make yourself slightly more mysterious and also to amuse yourself as the aforementioned drivers wonder why you never choose them.