A Street Cat Named Bob (9 page)

Things were going so well for us at one point that I teamed up with a guy called Pete from Corrision and started our own independent label, Corrupt Drive Records.

But it didn’t really work or, to be more accurate, I didn’t really work.

At the time my best friend Belle and I were in what would be a brief relationship together. We got on great as friends. She is a really caring person and looked after me, but as a relationship it was kind of doomed from the beginning. The problem was that she was on drugs as well and she was co-dependent. It really didn’t help me - or her - as we struggled to kick our habits. When one of us was trying to get clean the other one was using and vice versa. That’s co-dependency all over.

So it made it really difficult for me to break the cycle.

I was trying to break the cycle, but, looking back on it, if I’m honest I wouldn’t say I was trying hard. I think part of it was that I didn’t really feel like it was ever going to become a reality. Mentally, at least, the band was something I put on the back-burner. It was too easy to slip back into old habits - quite literally.

By 2005 I’d accepted that the band was a hobby, not a way of making a living. Pete carried on with the record label and still runs it now, I believe. But I was struggling so badly with my habit that I fell by the wayside - again. It became another one of those second chances that I let slip through my fingers. I guess I’ll never know what might have been.

I’d never given up on music, however. Even when the band broke up and it was clear that I wasn’t going to get anywhere professionally, I would spend hours most days playing on the guitar, improvising songs. It was a great outlet for me. God knows where I’d have been without it. And busking had certainly made a difference to my life in recent years. Without it - and the money it generated - I dread to think what I would have ended up doing to earn cash. That really didn’t bear thinking about.

That evening, as I settled down into the session, the tourists were once more out in force.

It was a repeat of the previous day. The moment I sat down – or, more precisely, the moment Bob sat down - people who would normally have rushed by began to slow down and interact with him.

Again, it was women rather than men who showed the most interest.

Not long after I’d started playing, a rather stony-faced traffic warden walked past. I saw her look down at Bob and watched as her face melted into a warm smile.

‘Aah, look at you,’ she said, stopping and kneeling down to stroke Bob.

She barely gave me a second glance and didn’t drop anything into the guitar case. But that was fine. I was beginning to love the way that Bob seemed to be able to brighten up people’s days.

He was a beautiful creature, there was no doubt about that. But it wasn’t just that. There was something else about Bob. It was his personality that was attracting the attention. People could sense something about him.

I could sense it myself. There was something special about him. He had an unusual rapport with people, well, people he knew had his best interests at heart, at least.

Every now and again I’d see him bridle a bit when he saw someone he didn’t like. As we settled down, a very smart, rich-looking Middle-Eastern guy walked past, arm-in-arm with a really attractive blonde. She could easily have been a model.

‘Oh, look. What a gorgeous cat,’ she said, suddenly stopping in her tracks and pulling on the guy’s arm to slow him down. The guy looked distinctly unimpressed and flicked his hand dismissively, as if to say, ‘So what?’

The instant he did so Bob’s body language changed. He arched his back ever so slightly and shifted his body position so that he was a few inches closer to me. It was subtle - but to me it was really telling.

I wonder whether this guy reminds Bob of someone from his past?
I thought to myself as the couple walked on.
I wonder whether he had seen that look before?

I’d have given anything to know his story, discover what had led him to the hallway of my block of flats that evening. But that was something I never was going to know. It would always be guesswork.

As I settled into my set I was much more relaxed than twenty-four hours earlier. I think having Bob there the previous day had thrown me a bit, psychologically. I’d been used to having to engage and draw in the crowds myself. It had been hard work. Eking out every penny was tough. With Bob it was different. The way he’d sucked in the audience for me had been a bit odd at first. I’d also felt very responsible for him with so many people around. Covent Garden - like the rest of London - has its share of weirdoes. I was terrified that someone would just grab him and run off with him.

But that day felt different, however. That day I felt like we were safe, like we kind of belonged here.

As I began singing and the coins started tinkling into the case at the same rate as the previous day, I thought to myself:
I’m enjoying this.

It had been a long time since I’d said that.

By the time we headed home three hours later my rucksack was once more jangling with the weight of coins. We’d collected well over sixty pounds again.

This time I wasn’t going to spend it on an expensive curry. I had more practical uses for the money. The following day the weather was even worse, with the forecast of really heavy rain that night.

So I decided to spend some time on Bob rather than busking. If he was going to hang out with me on a regular basis then I needed to have better equipment for him. I couldn’t walk around with him attached to a leash made out of a shoelace. Apart from anything else, it was uncomfortable - not to mention dangerous.

Bob and I hopped on a bus and headed off in the direction of Archway. I knew the north London branch of the Cats Protection charity was there.

Bob seemed to sense immediately that this wasn’t the same route we’d taken the previous couple of days. Every now and again he would turn and look at me as if to say: ‘So, where are you taking me today?’ He wasn’t anxious, just curious.

The Cats Protection shop was a smart, modern place with all sorts of equipment, toys and books about cats. There were loads of free pamphlets and brochures on every aspect of caring for a cat - from microchipping to toxoplasmosis, diet tips to neutering advice. I picked up a few for future reading.

There were only a couple of people working there and the place was quiet. So they couldn’t resist coming over for a chat as I took a look around with Bob sitting on my shoulder.

‘He’s a good-looking boy isn’t he?’ one lady said, stroking Bob. He could tell he was in safe hands because he was leaning his body into her as she smoothed his coat and cooed over him.

We then fell into a conversation about how Bob and I had met. I then explained what had happened the previous two days. Both women smiled and nodded.

‘A lot of cats like to go out for a walk with their owners,’ one told me. ‘They like to go for a walk in the park or for a short stroll down the street. But I have to say Bob’s a bit unusual isn’t he?’

‘He is,’ her friend said. ‘I think you’ve got yourself a bit of a jewel there. He’s obviously decided to attach himself to you.’

It was nice to hear them confirming what, deep down, I knew already. Every now and again, I had a little pang of doubt about whether I should try harder to put him back on the streets, whether I was doing the right thing in keeping him in the flat with me. Their words were a real boost for me.

What I didn’t know, however, was how best to manage Bob if he was going to be my constant companion on the streets of London. It wasn’t the safest of environments, to put it mildly. Apart from the obvious traffic, there were all sorts of potential threats and dangers out there.

‘The best thing you can do is to get a harness like this,’ one of the ladies said, unhooking a nice-looking blue, woven nylon harness, collar and matching lead.

She explained the pros and cons of it.

‘It’s not a great idea just to fix a leash to a cat collar. The worst collars can harm your cat’s neck and even choke the cat. And the problem with the better quality collars is that they are made from elastic or are what they call “breakaway” collars so that the cat can escape if the collar gets caught on something. There’s a good chance that at some point you’ll have an empty leash dangling in your hand,’ the lady explained. ‘I think you would be much better off with a cat harness and a leash, especially given you are out all the time,’ she said.

‘Isn’t it going to feel funny for him?’ I asked. ‘It’s not going to feel natural.’

‘You’ll need to ease him into it,’ she agreed. ‘It might take you a week or so. Start him off wearing it for a few minutes a day before you are ready to go outside together. Then build it up from there.’ She could see me mulling it over. ‘Why not try it on him?’

‘Why not?’ I said.

Bob was sitting comfortably and didn’t offer too much resistance, although I could tell that he was uncertain about what was happening.

‘Just leave it on him and let him get used to the sensation of having it on his body,’ the lady said.

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.