A Street Cat Named Bob

The harness, lead and collar cost about thirteen pounds. It was one of the most expensive they had, but I figured he was worth it.

If I’d been a businessman, chief executive of James & Bob Inc, I’d have been thinking you’ve got to look after your employees, you’ve got to invest in your human resources – except in this case it was my feline resources.

It only took me a couple of days to introduce Bob to the harness. I began just by letting him wear it around the house, sometimes with the lead attached. At first he was a bit confused at having this extra-long, leather tail trailing behind him. But he soon got used to it. Every time he wore it I made sure to praise him for doing so. I knew the worst thing I could do was to shout at him, not that I ever did that anyway.

After a couple of days we progressed to going on short walks with it on. When we were out busking, I stuck to the old collar most of the time, but then every now and again I’d slip the harness on for a short section of the walk to work. Slowly but surely it became second nature to him to have the harness on.

Bob was still coming with me every day.

We didn’t stay out too long. I didn’t want to inflict that on him. Even though I already had a feeling he would follow me to the ends of the earth, and even though he was always sitting on my shoulders and didn’t have to walk, I wasn’t going to do that to him.

It was during the third week of us busking together that he first decided he didn’t want to join me. Ordinarily, the minute he saw me putting on my coat and packing my rucksack, he’d be up and moving towards me, ready for me to put his lead on. But then, one day, as I went through the normal routine, he just shuffled off behind the sofa for a bit then went and laid down underneath the radiator. It was as if to say ‘I’m having a day off.’

I could tell he was tired.

‘Don’t fancy it today, Bob?’ I said, stroking him.

He looked at me in that knowing way of his.

‘No problem,’ I said, heading to the kitchen to put some snacks in a bowl to keep him going for the rest of the day until I got home that evening.

I’d read a report once that said leaving the TV on made pets feel less lonely when their owners are out. I didn’t know whether that was true, but I switched the TV set on in any case. He immediately shuffled towards his favourite spot and started staring at it.

Going out that day really brought home to me the difference Bob had made to my life. With him on my shoulder or walking on the lead in front of me, I turned heads everywhere. On my own I was invisible again. By now we were well known enough to the locals for a few people to express concern.

‘Where’s the cat today?’ one local stall-owner said as he passed me by that evening.

‘He’s having a day off,’ I said.

‘Oh, good. I was worried something had happened to the little fella,’ he smiled, giving me the thumbs-up.

A couple of other people stopped and asked the same question. As soon as I’d told them Bob was fine they moved on. No one was quite as interested in stopping for a talk as they did when Bob was around. I may not have liked it, but I accepted it. That’s the way it was.

On the pavement at James Street, the sound of coins landing in the bag had become music to my ears; I couldn’t deny that. But without Bob I couldn’t help noticing that the music slowed down significantly. As I played I was conscious that I wasn’t making anywhere near as much money. It took me a few more hours to earn about half the cash I had made on a good day with Bob. It was back to the old days before Bob, but that was OK.

It was as I walked back that evening that something began to sink in. It wasn’t all about making money. I wasn’t going to starve. And my life was much richer for having Bob in it.

It was such a pleasure to have such great company, such a great companion. But somehow it felt like I’d been given a chance to get back on track.

It’s not easy when you are working on the streets. People don’t want to give you a chance. Before I had Bob, if I would try to approach people in the pubs with my guitar strap on, people would go ‘no, sorry’ before I’d even had a chance to say hello.

I could have been asking someone for the time. But they’d say to me: ‘no change, sorry’ before I opened my mouth. That happened all the time. They wouldn’t even give me the opportunity.

People don’t want to listen. All they see is someone they think is trying to get a free ride. They don’t understand I’m working, I’m not begging. I was actually trying to make a living. Just because I wasn’t wearing a suit and a tie and carrying a briefcase or a computer, just because I didn’t have a payslip and a P45, it didn’t mean that I was freeloading.

Having Bob there gave me a chance to interact with people.