by Susan Finden
I was told that there were a lot of elderly ladies who used that pharmacy and they had all adopted Casper. Some of them used to pick him up from his seat while they waited for their prescriptions. They’d wander around the shop, carrying him like a baby on his back in their arms, and giving him lots of cuddles. One of the shop assistants told me he was giving people so much comfort by being there and providing something for them to look forward to when they had little else in their lives. He wasn’t being entirely altruistic though, as, according to the assistants, my Casper lapped it all up and was getting plenty of love from lots of people.
‘He’s such a handsome boy, isn’t he?’ one of them commented.
I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from replying, ‘Yes, when he’s clean!’ I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he wasn’t always the most hygienic of cats in case it gave them a reason to stop his little visits.
The way Casper was treated by the staff in both the GP’s surgery and the chemist’s shop displays what I feel is a wonderful but sometimes eccentric British tendency to love animals – sometimes we have more time for them than we do for our fellow humans. The British public is certainly very generous when it comes to supporting animal charities: according to the Charities Aid Foundation figures, the NSPCC receives only £2 million more in donations than the RSPCA; the Dogs Trust receives around £34 million in donations every year and Cats Protection around £27 million.
While many outsiders may view Britain as a country overly keen on bureaucracy and rules, it seems that we often bend them beyond the call of duty when animals are concerned. The Queen herself is forever associated with her love of corgis, and many have heard the story of Mrs Chippy, the tabby cat who sailed from London on Endurance with Sir Ernest Shackleton. Major British institutions have a history not merely of housing but of positively encouraging feline companions.
Only a few years ago, details were revealed under the Freedom of Information Act about the cats that the Home Office had been keeping at its London headquarters since 1883. Originally, cats were introduced to deal with the natural problem of mice in an old building, but, in 1929, the status of the cat was formally recognized when one penny a day was paid from the official accounts for food. All the Home Office cats were black and all were called Peter. When the Home Office began to set up satellite establishments across the country, each put in an official request for their own ‘Peter’.
In the late 1950s, whichever Peter was in residence in the London Home Office was catapulted to fame when he appeared in a documentary. When well-wishers offered gifts of tasty titbits and snacks in celebration of his work, they were told that this was against the rules that prevent civil servants from accepting gifts. After the death of that Peter, the Isle of Man offered one of their famous Manx cats to replace him. The fact that she was a girl could have jeopardized the line of ‘Peters’, which had become a tradition by then, but the civil servants got round it by calling her ‘Peta.’
Nor was Downing Street, the heart of British government, immune to the attractions of a pet. Wilberforce resided with three Prime Ministers – Edward Heath, Harold Wilson and Margaret Thatcher – thanks to his reputation as a great mouser. By the time he retired in 1987, he’d managed to affect the Iron Lady to the extent that she was reputed to have brought him back a tin of sardines from a state visit to Moscow.
It wasn’t long after the death of Wilberforce, soon after his retirement, that a new cat came into office at Number 10. Humphrey, named after a character in Yes Minister, wandered into the seat of power one day and simply took up residence. Apparently, he too appealed to the Prime Minister, for his cost of £100 a year was much less than the £4,000 for a pest control officer who’d allegedly never caught a mouse. Humphrey saw the departure of Mrs Thatcher and the arrival of John Major, and even lasted until Tony Blair brought a Labour government to power in 1997. He was given free rein to wander between Numbers 10 and 11 Downing Street and was famous enough to have his own book published. He met Bill Clinton, President of the USA at the time, and perhaps discussed whether Socks, the White House cat, had any special privileges he did not.
Humphrey found himself at the heart of a scandal when it was alleged that he was responsible for the death of a family of baby robins. The Prime Minister quickly jumped to his defence, claiming ‘Humphrey is not a serial killer’. It was later suggested that Mr Major knew this categorically, as it was he, not Humphrey, who had disturbed the robins’ nest, thus scaring away the parents.
Humphrey survived the slur on his character, but did not manage to last through the residency of Mr Blair. After only six months, Humphrey disappeared and some journalists suspected foul play. On enquiring what had happened to the Chief Mouser, they were told he had retired due to kidney problems. In the hope of more interesting headlines, questions were asked about whether he had been put to sleep, as it was alleged the Prime Minister’s wife was allergic to cats. In a scene worthy of Britain’s reputation as eccentric when it comes to animals, a number of select journalists were taken to a secret location to meet Humphrey in his retirement. Many of them knew him of old and could confirm his identity, so a national crisis was averted. To my mind, Humphrey looks rather like Casper and I wonder whether it is just in the nature of fluffy black and white cats to cause trouble?
It was not until Mr Blair was succeeded by Gordon Brown in 2007 that a new cat came to Downing Street. Sybil – again named after a TV character, this time from Fawlty Towers – was believed to have come from the new Chancellor Alastair Darling’s home in Edinburgh. Sadly, Sybil didn’t settle and it was decided that she should return to Scotland. However, before this happened she became very ill and passed on.
I think it is delightful that in the midst of political shenanigans and top-level debates, those in power still have time for furry friends. Perhaps they, too, benefit from the lowered blood pressure and stress levels that come from having animals around – who knows? Whatever the reason, I do hope it continues, and I am proud to think that, in his own small way, Casper played a part in helping people during what may have been very difficult times in their lives.
Dear Cassie – helping all those people without knowing it, certainly without me knowing it. It makes me sad to think of old people alone without anyone to tell their worries to, but the thought that Casper gave them some companionship is heart-warming and comforting. There is no doubt that some people feel able to relate to an animal in ways they can’t with another person. I hope Casper was there for people when they needed him.
It was Casper’s friendliness and love for humans that made him a special cat. In truth, he was an ordinary little cat who was starting to have an extraordinary effect. I used to laugh at his adventures in Frome, but I could never have imagined what would happen once we moved to Plymouth.
CHAPTER 8
How to go Places and Make Friends
Casper
Obviously, I had a life before I found my mum. When we discovered each other, I was getting on a bit and no longer a little kitten. I was a cat with a past! While she may have been keen to discover what that past entailed, I enjoyed being something of a ‘mystery cat’ with an eye on the future. In the days before mum I learned to survive and be comfortable around humans, and that’s what matters most. I used what I’d learned to make sure life was as nice for me as it could possibly be.
It was about this time that I realized my understanding of the human world was something that could help cats and people alike. Because I’d always been a nomad at heart, I’d built up a lot of knowledge about the skilful ways in which journeys could be undertaken and friends made, which I will share with you now.
Casper’s basic rules for filling the day
Decide where you want to go.
Go there.
If there are impediments (and humans must be given some credit for the many ways in which they manage to create obstacle courses out of the most innocent household articles), see this as nothing more than
a challenge. Windows and doors always open somehow. It is generally useful to feign sleep until such openings appear, then spring to life and exit, leaving your human too confused to catch you in time.
Previous reconnaissance missions may have given you an idea of where to while away a few pleasant hours. If this is the case, head to that source of heat, food or company immediately. If you are undecided, listen for happy human noises, the smell of turkey roll and an absence of barking.
I have always found places in which people sit down in large groups are highly conducive to cats. Human vet buildings (or ‘GP surgeries’ as they like to call them), or places where they wait to buy their flea treatment (they call these buildings ‘the chemist’ or ‘the pharmacy’), usually have comfortable seats placed there for cats. Indeed, if humans also wish to sit down, another seat will be provided for any feline visitors, which is a charming kindness and much to their credit.
Ignore shouting unless it is accompanied by the throwing of objects or energetic chasing.
Always behave as if it is perfectly natural and normal for you to be in the place of your choice.
If your human appears, remain calm. They tend to be quite surprised that we have lives beyond their homes and gardens. If they see us beyond those confines, they get confused and assume that you ‘need to go home’. This is odd: if you ‘needed’ to get home, you would go home, so it’s best to stay seated, pretend to sleep if needs be or ignore them if that’s best. They’ll soon realize you have a right to be there – as the other humans have already recognized – and they may even think they’ve imagined it all.
You will probably receive quite a lot of attention in these places, which should be accepted (especially if that was the object in the first place). Prepare to be carried like a human baby, praised for being ‘clever’ (this involves doing nothing more than being yourself) and told many secrets and worries.
Go home as if nothing had ever happened.
CHAPTER 9
Finding More Friends
My affinity with animals is an integral part of me, and my husband Chris accepts that. He never laughs when I stop in the street to move a worm out of harm’s way, or if I rant at people on holiday when I see them being thoughtless or cruel to strays. Chris takes it as part of me, and I will always be grateful to him for that. When we married we couldn’t imagine the struggles we would face, but I believe that his understanding of me from the start allowed us to build such a strong base as a couple that we rose to the challenges with greater strength when they came.
I enjoy watching the cats grow with each other as much as I love getting to know them myself. What they’ve taught me about patience and care is immeasurable. No pair did more in that regard than Clyde and a cat called Gemma.
We got Gemma from a couple who’d broken away from the official Cats Protection branch where we lived and set up an independent cat rescue group. I befriended this couple and kept in touch with them even when I wasn’t looking to add new kitties to my life. I always enjoyed visiting Ted and Rosemary, so one beautiful summer afternoon I’d cycled over to see them in their cat centre. Chris was going to meet me there when he’d finished work.
When I arrived, Rosemary called out, ‘Just have a wander round, Sue, and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’ She always had her hands full, attending to all the residents, but I was quite used to spending some time on my own, happily looking at who was there and what they were all up to.
I was pottering around, checking all the pens and making sure that the cats were fine, when this lovely creature came straight up and looked at me in such a strange way. It was almost as if she were looking into my soul – I felt quite spooked. I wasn’t in the market for another cat, so I tried to put it out of my mind. Chris and I met up later at the centre and we had a chat with Ted and Rosemary before we headed off. I hadn’t realized that, when we visited, he’d also taken to wandering around and looking in all the pens, so when he told me what he’d been up to, I was quite surprised.
When we got home, he kept chatting about all the cats and finally said, ‘Did you see the white one with the grey bits on her by any chance?’ I knew he was talking about the same little girl who’d stared at me, so I said I had and was shocked when he told me that the same thing had happened to him. ‘She stared at me so hard, for so long, that I felt as if I’d known her before,’ Chris told me. ‘Isn’t that funny?’ he said. ‘I felt a connection there – we just sort of gelled.’ It was odd. Chris loved animals by now, but this was the first time I’d heard him talk like that. This little cat had really got to him.
We didn’t say anything else about it that night, but as I was dropping off to sleep, Chris whispered to me. ‘You know, Sue, that little white and grey cat? If you want her, that’s absolutely fine by me.’ That was as good as him asking for her.
The next day I called Rosemary and she was delighted that we were going to be Gemma’s new carers. She brought her round that very afternoon and told me a little of her story. ‘The poor thing has been housed twice already,’ she said. ‘People take a rescue cat and expect it to come into their lives and settle immediately. It doesn’t happen like that – it takes a lot longer than one day.’ She told me that Gemma had been housed with a dog and another cat and she was too scared of both of them to fit in instantly, so she’d been brought back almost immediately. The same thing happened the next time: she was given hardly a moment before that family decided she wasn’t right for them either.
When Rosemary left, I made a vow that it would be third time lucky for little Gemma now that she was with us. There was no way I was going to dump her again. She eventually came out of her shell, and by the time that had happened, Rosemary had told me a little more of her story. She’d been found in a transport yard, covered in diesel. The men in the yard had tried to do their best for her, by making sure she was fed, but she was a nervous, twitchy thing. They contacted Rosemary, as they were worried about her. There was a suspicion that she had jumped a lorry, as she had no collar or chip, but, really, we knew nothing about her.
Gemma was hard work – even harder than Casper. Settling her took six months. I didn’t know much about what had happened in her past but she must have been forced to fend for herself at some point, as she was incredibly defensive with the others, hissing and spitting, especially around food. It was as if she always felt she had to fight for it, and there would never be enough.
As we were her third attempt at re-homing, I felt that we owed it to her to keep trying. The poor thing had been passed from pillar to post, and it would have been unfair to give up on her quickly. However, there was always the worry that the other cats would get overwhelmed and possibly even leave if the attacks went on for too long. Gemma eventually responded to love and care and became the most beautiful cat. With grooming and a little help with her hygiene, it transpired that she was a stunning Maine Coon.
Her main delight was being outside in the warmth – what a sun worshipper that cat was! When I took her to the vet for the first time, I was warned to be very careful and protect her from sun exposure because the white patches she had would make her more susceptible to skin cancer. I got a big floral parasol and propped it up in the garden for her to sit under once we knew her habits. This protected her from the brilliant sunshine, but she sneaked out from under it quite a lot to lie in other patches.
After she had been with us for a while, I noticed she was getting a scab on her ear that I knew hadn’t come from a cut. I took her back to the vet and received the sad news that she did, indeed, have skin cancer. He also noticed that she had a sty under her eyelid – this was also cancerous. The vet was absolutely brilliant and performed plastic surgery on her face, but he had to amputate her ear. However, the disease spread and, within a month, Gemma started walking in continuous circles. The vet believed that she was having terrible headaches and this was her way of coping with them.
Gemma still sought out the sun, no matter how tiny the spot. The amazing thing w
as that Clyde, who was not a sun worshipper, started to sit with her. The more ill she became, the more dedicated he was. Gemma was never alone; she always had her friend beside her. I swear he knew she was poorly and he was trying to offer her some comfort. I had a lump in my throat every time I saw them together: Gemma getting weaker and Clyde diligently keeping watch. When she got up from her spot and started to walk round in circles, he’d wait until she tired herself out and came back to him It was incredibly humbling to witness such patience and consideration.
As time went on, her walking in circles got worse and I knew the time had come to make a decision. In my heart, I knew she’d have to be put to sleep. I was on my own the day I went, as Chris was working abroad, and I felt such loneliness and sorrow Every time I’ve been in this position, I’ve done it by myself, and it is a great burden to carry. Many people say that animals are lucky: they have us to make the decision for them and help them to cross the rainbow bridge. I appreciate and understand that way of thinking, but it doesn’t stop the loss from hurting.
