Free Casper the Commuting Cat: The True Story of the Cat Who Rode the Bus and Stole Our Hearts by Linda Watson-Brown, Susan Finden Page B

called Bonnie. Bonnie’s main hobby was to squeeze herself into the smallest space imaginable, in any sort of container, no matter how unlikely it seemed that she would get into it or how uncomfortable she appeared once she’d achieved her goal. As soon as she saw any basket or box, she would dash over and turn herself round and round and round, edging further and further in, until she’d managed to wedge herself into whatever confined space she’d found. She seemed to be able to get into things that were a quarter of her size, and she was very determined. She’d sit with her bottom stuck high up in the air with no space whatsoever.
    Bonnie talked incessantly. She constantly yapped away, even while she was trying to get into her various small places. As she went round in circles, she’d yabber away to herself, as if she were either complaining about what a terrible bother these things were or reassuring herself that it could definitely be done despite the laws of physics. Even when she wasn’t taking part in her favourite activity, she would chatter. If I was going about the house, cleaning or tidying, Bonnie would discuss matters with me and, if I didn’t join in the conversation, she’d nip me quite hard, often on the hand, as if to say, ‘I’m talking to you.’ I laughed at her little reminders. I loved her character and the way she would spend hours trying to get back into the tiny place she’d left minutes earlier.
    Cats have their own characters, just like people do, and you can build up a different, marvellous rapport with each one. Chris had his own relationships with the cats, and was particularly fond of Bonnie and Clyde, and Jack. Bonnie and Clyde always went looking for Chris when he was away on the lorries: when he left, one of them would go out the front door to try to track him down, while the other went out the back. They were very close, which isn’t always the case with siblings.
    You always knew where Bonnie was with her ‘yap yap yap’ chatter, but one terrible morning after Chris had gone, I realized that I hadn’t heard her for a while. I spent hours looking for her, going into every shop nearby, asking everyone, ‘Have you seen my cat?’ and describing the beautiful creature she was. The last shop I went to was a newsagent’s, and, by chance, I bumped into the young lad who delivered the papers. I didn’t have a photograph of Bonnie with me (I now keep a pile of photographs on my kitchen worktop, one of each cat I have, in case of such eventualities), but as I described her yet again, I saw his face drop.
    ‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘I saw a cat just like that.’
    ‘Where? What has happened to her?’ I asked, scared of the answer.
    The words were as bad as I’d expected. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he muttered. ‘She was lying in the gutter in front of the hairdressing shop.’
    That was the next one on my list. I ran along, but there was nothing (or no one) in the gutter. I went inside and asked the woman in charge if she’d seen anything earlier that day. She had; she’d called the council to come and collect the cat. I was convinced it was Bonnie.
    It is one of the hardest things to deal with. When you lose a cat suddenly, your mind races through all the things you could have changed. If only I hadn’t let her out that morning. If only Chris had been at home, she wouldn’t have gone looking for him If only she had gone in the other direction. Just one change, just one second later, and she would still be with me. I’d be at home, none the wiser, and Bonnie would trot in, yapping at me, trying to fit into the fruit bowl.
    I ran out of the shop and rang the council as soon as I got home. I was eventually put through to the department I needed, and asked if a cat had been brought in. When I was told that one had, I asked, ‘If she has a collar, could you please check her name?’
    After a few minutes the man came back on the line and said, ‘It says Bonnie. I’m sorry – is that