A Street Cat Named Bob Read online

  He would probably be waiting on the landing for me when I got home that evening.

  Fair enough, I thought as I set off for Tottenham High Road. Bob had done me a huge favour the previous day. I wasn’t going to exploit our relationship by demanding he come along with me every day. He was my companion, not my employee!

  The skies were grey and there was a hint of rain in the air. If it was like this in central London it was going to be a waste of time. Busking on a rainy day was never a good idea. Instead of feeling sympathy for you, people simply rushed by that bit quicker. If it was bucketing down in the centre of town, I told myself, I’d simply turn around and head back home. I would rather spend the day hanging out with Bob. I wanted to use the money we’d made the previous night to get him a decent lead and collar.

  I was about two hundred yards or so down the road when I sensed something behind me. I turned round and saw a familiar figure, padding along the pavement.

  ‘Ah, changed our mind have we,’ I said, as he approached me.

  Bob tilted his head ever so slightly to one side and gave me one of those pitying looks, as if to say: ‘well, why else would I be standing here?’

  I still had the shoestring lead in my pocket. I put it on and we started walking down the road together.

  The streets of Tottenham are very different to those of Covent Garden, but just like the day before people immediately began staring at us. And just like the day before, one or two looked at me disapprovingly. They clearly thought I was off my rocker, leading a ginger tom around on a piece of string.

  ‘If this is going to become a regular thing I really am going to have to get you a proper lead,’ I said quietly to Bob, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

  But for every person that gave me a dirty look another half dozen smiled and nodded at me. One West Indian lady, weighed down with bags of shopping, gave us a big, sunny grin.

  ‘Don’t you two make a pretty picture,’ she said.

  No one had engaged me in conversation on the streets around my flat in all the months I’d lived here. It was odd, but also amazing. It was as if my Harry Potter invisibility cloak had slipped off my shoulders.

  When we got to the crossing point at Tottenham High Road, Bob gave me a look as if to say: ‘Come on, you know what to do now’ and I plonked him on my shoulders.

  Soon we were on the bus, with Bob taking his favourite position with his head pressed against the glass. We were on the road again.

  I’d been right about the weather. Soon the rain was hammering down, forming intricate patterns on the window where Bob had once more pressed his face tight against the glass. Outside you could just make out a sea of umbrellas. There were people running, splashing through the streets to avoid the downpour.

  Thankfully, the rain had eased off by the time we reached the centre of town. Despite the weather there were even bigger crowds in the centre of town than there had been the previous day.

  ‘We’ll give it a go for a couple of hours,’ I said to Bob as I plonked him on my shoulders and headed off towards Covent Garden. ‘But if it starts to rain again we’ll head back, I promise.’

  Walking down Neal Street, once again people were stopping us all the time. I was happy to let them fuss over Bob, within reason. In the space of ten minutes, half a dozen people had stopped us and at least half of them had asked to take a picture.

  I quickly learned that the key was to keep moving, otherwise you’d be surrounded before you knew it.

  It was as we were reaching the end of Neal Street near where I turned towards James Street that something interesting happened.

  I suddenly felt Bob’s paws readjusting themselves on my shoulder. Before I knew it he was sliding off my shoulder and clambering down my arm. When I let him hop on to the pavement he began walking ahead of me. I extended the lead to its full length and let him go. It was obvious that he recognised where we were and was going to take it from here. He was leading the way.

  He marched ahead of me all the way to the pitch where we’d been the previous night. He then stood there, waiting for me to take out my guitar and lay the guitar case down for him.

  ‘There you go, Bob,’ I said. He instantly sat down on the soft case as if it was where he belonged. He positioned himself so that he could watch the world walk by - which, this being Covent Garden, it was.

  There had been a time when I’d had ambitions of making it as a real musician. I’d harboured dreams of becoming the next Kurt Cobain. As naive and completely stupid as it sounds now, it had been part of my grand plan when I’d come back to England from Australia.

  That’s what I’d told my mother and everyone else when I’d set off.

  I’d had my moments and, for a brief time, I felt like I might actually get somewhere.

  It was hard for a while, but things changed around 2002, when I’d got off the streets and into some sheltered accommodation in Dalston. One thing had led to another and I’d formed a band with some guys I’d met. We were a four-piece guitar band called Hyper Fury, which told you a lot about my and my band mates’ state of mind at the time. The name certainly summed me up. I was an angry young man. I really was hyper-furious - about life in general and about feeling that I’d not had a fair break in particular. My music was an outlet for my anger and angst.

  For that reason we weren’t very mainstream. Our songs were edgy and dark and our lyrics even more so, which was hardly surprising, I suppose, given that our influences were bands like Nine Inch Nails and Nirvana.

  We actually managed to put out two albums, though EPs might be a more accurate description. The first came out in September 2003 with another band, Corrision. It was called Corrision v Hyper Fury and featured two pretty heavy tracks, called ‘Onslaught’ and ‘Retaliator’. Again, the titles offer a fairly strong indication to our musical philosophy. We followed that up six months later in March 2004 with a second album called Profound Destruction Unit, which featured three songs, ‘Sorry’, ‘Profound’ and another version of ‘Retaliator’. It sold a few copies but it didn’t really set the world on fire. Put it this way: we didn’t get booked for Glastonbury.

  We did have some fans, though, and managed to get some gigs, mainly in north London and places like Camden, in particular. There was a big Gothy kind of scene going on there and we fitted in well with it. We looked and certainly sounded the part. We did gigs in pubs, we played at squat parties, basically we played wherever we were invited. There was a moment when we might have started to make progress. The biggest gig we did was at The Dublin Castle, a famous music pub in north London, where we played a couple of times. In particular, we played in the Gothic Summer festival there, which was quite a big deal at the time.

  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 fe
ll 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 yo
u’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.’