Capitolo 4
Claiming Each Other
After two weeks of medication, Bob was visibly recovering-his wound healing nicely, his coat growing back thicker, and his eyes developing a beautiful green-yellow luster. His energy levels had skyrocketed too, turning him into a "whirling dervish" who clawed at everything in the flat, including me. He'd become such a menace in the kitchen that I installed child-locks on cupboards to protect my food supplies.
His behavior made it clear what needed to be done. As a young male cat with excessive testosterone, Bob needed neutering. Without it, his hormones would drive him to roam for females, disappearing for days or weeks, risking traffic accidents and fights with territorial male cats. There was even a small risk of him contracting feline diseases. Neutering would make him calmer and more even-tempered.
After the procedure, I tried to release him back to the streets, thinking that's where he belonged. But Bob had other ideas. Each time I put him outside, he'd wait for me at the entrance to the flats. When I tried leaving him out overnight, he'd find ways to sneak back in.
Bob's determination escalated when he began following me to work. First just to the main road, then further each day. The situation reached its climax when he followed me all the way to the dangerous Tottenham High Road. As I prepared to cross through heavy traffic to catch my bus, I was horrified to find Bob beside me, ready to dash across with me. I carried him safely across, but when I tried to leave him there, he somehow managed to follow me onto the double-decker bus and settled comfortably on the seat beside me.
When the conductor appeared and asked if he was mine, I finally surrendered to the inevitable: "I guess he must be." In that moment, I realized Bob had chosen me, not the other way around. Sometimes the most important relationships in our lives aren't the ones we seek out, but the ones that find us when we least expect them.
Capitolo 5
The Unexpected Performer
For the forty-five minute bus journey, Bob sat quietly beside me, his face pressed against the window, completely fascinated by the passing cars, cyclists, and pedestrians. Despite the bustling urban environment, he remained perfectly calm and unfazed. The only time he sought reassurance was when police sirens or ambulances blared too close. When we arrived at Tottenham Court Road, I put him on a makeshift shoelace lead, but soon had to carry him on my shoulders through the crowded streets.
To my surprise, Bob's presence transformed my usually invisible status-suddenly everyone wanted to stop us, admire him, and take photos. The journey that normally took ten minutes stretched to an hour as we were repeatedly stopped by admirers from middle-aged shoppers to Swedish tourists.
Bob's presence completely transformed my street performing experience. Before I'd even played a note, people were dropping coins into my guitar case just to admire Bob, who had curled up comfortably inside it. Throughout the afternoon, crowds gathered-Brazilian tourists cooing "gato bonito," cat lovers sharing stories, and countless passersby slowing down to look at my feline companion. By the end of the evening, I'd collected 63.77-three times my usual daily earnings.
I treated Bob to posh cat food and myself to a proper Indian takeaway, luxuries we rarely enjoyed. The next morning, Bob woke me by knocking over a saucepan, demanding breakfast. Though I considered taking the day off, bills needed paying, so I prepared to go busking again. Initially, Bob seemed uninterested, but soon followed me outside.
As we walked through Tottenham, people's reactions varied from disapproving looks to warm smiles, with one West Indian lady commenting on what a "pretty picture" we made. When we reached Covent Garden, Bob amazingly led the way to our pitch from the previous day, confidently taking his position on my guitar case.
Bob had proven himself to be much more than just a companion; he was a natural performer who connected with people in ways I never could alone. In a city where most people avoid eye contact with strangers, Bob had become a bridge between worlds.
Capitolo 6
The Transformative Power of Responsibility
Bob wasn't just changing people's attitudes toward me-he was changing my attitude toward others and myself. Having responsibilities for another being felt like looking after a child-both rewarding and scary. For the first time in years, I had someone depending on me, someone whose needs came before my own.
Bob proved he could handle himself well. When a drunk man with a Staffordshire Bull Terrier approached us, and the dog tried to steal Bob's biscuits, Bob calmly bopped the dog on the nose with lightning-fast precision. The Staffie retreated in shock while Bob simply returned to snoozing as if nothing had happened.
Living with Bob was never dull. His street origins showed in many ways-he refused to use litter trays despite my attempts to train him, preferring the gardens downstairs. He had a wild streak, tearing around the flat playing with bottle tops or gently placing an injured bumblebee back on the table repeatedly. Despite regular meals, he still ate frantically as if each might be his last. As spring arrived, he shed his winter coat everywhere, though his health had improved dramatically-no more visible ribs or bald patches. He'd developed a fascination with television, particularly horse racing.
We had much in common-both of us knew what it meant to live meal-to-meal on the streets. Perhaps that's why our bond had formed so quickly and grown so deep. In many ways, we were healing each other. His presence gave me routine, responsibility, and purpose-three things that had been sorely missing from my life.
Having Bob made me take a hard look at myself. As a recovering addict who visited a clinic fortnightly and collected medication daily, I made it a rule not to take him on those trips-I didn't want him seeing that part of my past. Days after getting him microchipped, I found a Tupperware box containing my old heroin paraphernalia hidden in a cupboard. It was like seeing a ghost, bringing back memories I'd hoped to banish forever. I immediately decided I didn't want it in the house anymore-not to remind or tempt me, and definitely not around Bob. He followed me downstairs to the bin area and watched as I threw the box into hazardous waste.
"Just doing something I should have done a long time ago," I told him as he fixed me with one of his inquisitive stares. In that moment, I realized I wanted to be the person Bob thought I was.
Capitolo 7
Finding Legitimate Ground
Life on the streets is never straightforward-you've always got to expect the unexpected. Social workers call our lives "chaotic" because they don't conform to their idea of normality, but it's normal to us. So I wasn't surprised when life around Covent Garden started getting more complicated as summer ended.
Bob continued drawing crowds, especially tourists. I'd heard every language imaginable and learned the word for "cat" in dozens of them-from Czech "kocka" to Chinese "mao." We had regulars who'd stop by on their way home, some even bringing Bob little presents.
But problems were brewing with the local authorities. The Covent Guardians kept reminding me the area was for painted statues, not buskers. Worse were the tube station staff, particularly one threatening ticket inspector who warned me to "piss off-or else." After one particularly frightening incident where Bob bolted into crowds after being startled, I realized we needed a safer, more stable way to earn a living.
With Bob by my side, I registered at the Big Issue office in Vauxhall. The Big Issue philosophy is helping people help themselves-vendors buy copies to sell them, it's not charity. We became Big Issue Vendors Number 683. The handbook emphasized their philosophy: "a hand up, not a hand out," exactly what I needed this time around.
For my trial pitch, Sam placed me outside Covent Garden tube station-ironically the same spot where I'd had trouble busking. With Bob as my secret weapon, I immediately started attracting customers. Within the first hour, I'd sold six copies. The day's highlight came when the same ticket attendant who'd reported me for busking approached angrily, only for me to calmly flash my Big Issue badge. "I'm just doing my job, mate," I told him. "I suggest you get on with yours."
I felt I'd finally made a good decision in my life. After years of squandering opportunities, becoming a Big Issue seller gave me and Bob much-needed structure. Working Monday to Saturday selling magazines taught me responsibility and organization-skills I'd lacked during my decade of chaos. I had to learn to run my pitch like a business, calculating how many magazines to buy and managing my money carefully. Though I earned less than busking, the legitimacy was worth it. For the first time in years, I felt like a contributing member of society rather than someone living on its fringes.
Capitolo 8
The Final Battle with Addiction
That autumn turned cold and wet. One particularly dreary morning, Bob seemed unusually lethargic as we left the flat. When we reached Tottenham Court Road, his condition worsened, and he began vomiting bile repeatedly. Panicked thoughts raced through my mind-had he eaten something toxic? Was he seriously ill?
I abandoned selling magazines after less than two hours, worried about getting Bob home to warmth and safety. At home, he curled up by the radiator and slept for hours. I barely slept that night, constantly checking his breathing. The next day, he seemed slightly perkier, but I still worried. At the library, I researched his symptoms online-a terrible idea that left me a nervous wreck as I read about everything from hairballs to cancer.
I decided to monitor him closely and reached out to Rosemary, a vet nurse I knew. She immediately suspected Bob's habit of rummaging through garbage bins and arranged for medication to be delivered to us at no cost-a kindness that touched me deeply. The medicine worked quickly, and by Thursday, Bob was recovering well. A check-up at the Blue Cross confirmed he was on the mend.
This illness profoundly affected me. Seeing Bob vulnerable made me realize it was time to get completely clean myself. I spoke with my counselor about coming off methadone, and we made plans to transition to Subutex with the goal of becoming drug-free.
The young doctor at the drug dependency unit handed me my final methadone prescription with stern instructions: take this dose, then return in forty-eight hours when withdrawal symptoms had fully kicked in. Only then could I start Subutex, the milder medication that would ease me completely off drug dependency.
The first day passed relatively easily as methadone typically lasted twenty hours. Bob and I played, took walks, and I distracted myself with video games. But by the twenty-four hour mark, withdrawal symptoms began intensifying-sweating profusely, twitching, and experiencing lucid dreams about scoring heroin that always ended in failure. My body and subconscious were waging war.
The second day brought migraine-level headaches, extreme sensitivity to light and noise, and the dreaded "restless legs syndrome" where my limbs involuntarily kicked. I cycled between burning hot and freezing cold, experiencing moments of clarity about how addiction had destroyed my life, followed by hallucinations and desperation.
Throughout this hellish experience, Bob proved my salvation. He seemed to understand exactly what I needed-staying close when I wanted company, giving space when I didn't, checking on me when I was too still. He provided distraction when I needed to feed him and emotional support through his constant presence.
After the longest forty-eight hours of my life, I finally made it to the clinic. The counselor gave me Subutex, which transformed me completely. Colors seemed brighter, sounds crisper-I felt truly alive again. Back home, I celebrated with Bob: "We did it mate. We did it." I had kicked my dependency, and Bob had helped me through it. For the first time in years, I could see light at the end of a very dark tunnel.
Capitolo 9
Reconnecting with the World
After deciding to visit my mother in Australia, I faced several challenges before departure. Belle volunteered to look after Bob, but I worried about our separation. I needed to secure a new passport with help from a social worker, and save 500 in cash just to be allowed into Australia. My mother booked me flights via Beijing on Air China, and I worked extra hours selling the Big Issue to save enough money.
The journey to Australia proved nightmarish. In Beijing, I was pulled aside during the swine flu scare for medical testing due to my cold symptoms. After being cleared, I struggled to navigate the enormous airport to find my connecting flight. At Melbourne customs, a drug-sniffing dog detected traces of cocaine on my luggage, requiring me to explain my Subutex prescription before being released.
Reuniting with my mother in Tasmania was emotional. Her cottage was peaceful and picturesque, surrounded by farmland with a river nearby. As I recovered physically, our relationship began healing too. During sunset conversations on the veranda, I finally opened up about my homeless years and addiction struggles. Though she blamed herself, I took responsibility for my choices. We discovered our similarities and talked honestly about both past and present.
Despite offers to stay in Australia, thoughts of Bob pulled me back to London. When I returned, he immediately recognized me, bouncing off Belle's sofa and climbing onto my shoulders as if I'd never left. Shortly after returning, I discovered Bob had taught himself to use the toilet like a human rather than going outside-proving once again how remarkably intelligent he was.
Back in London, I faced accusations about Bob's calm demeanor. A Chinese woman confronted me, claiming I drugged him because he was "too quiet." I'd heard similar accusations before, like from a professorial man in Covent Garden who claimed he was "on to me." When challenged to explain what drug I supposedly used, both accusers backed down.
I also regularly received offers to buy Bob. One persistent woman had gradually increased her offer from 100 to 1,000. I finally silenced her by asking how much she would sell her youngest child for, explaining that Bob was like my child.
In contrast, the tube station staff adored Bob. After joking with ticket inspector Davika about Bob needing an ID card like a Japanese cat stationmaster, she surprised me weeks later with a laminated travel card featuring Bob's photo. When I asked what it meant, she explained it showed Bob was free to travel on the underground and that the staff considered him "part of the family"-a gesture that nearly brought me to tears.
Capitolo 10
The Second Chance We All Deserve
One spring evening in 2009, as I was finishing my Big Issue sales at Angel station around 7pm, I spotted trouble approaching-a rough-looking man with a large, aggressive Rottweiler that immediately fixated on Bob. I began packing up to leave, briefly unclipping Bob's lead from my belt. In that moment, the poorly-tethered Rottweiler broke free and charged toward us.
I instinctively jumped in front of Bob to protect him, getting knocked over and wrestling with the powerful dog. The owner eventually pulled the dog away, striking it brutally across the head. When I turned to check on Bob, he was gone-he'd fled in terror.
I frantically searched everywhere-Camden Passage, Islington Green, the Waterstone's bookshop-asking everyone if they'd seen him. As night fell, I wandered Essex Road in a daze, alternating between hope and despair. Eventually, approaching Belle's house around 10pm, I spotted a familiar silhouette in the shadows-Bob had somehow found his way there, a mile and a half from Angel station.
When I scooped him up, he greeted me with a plaintive meow as if saying "Where have you been?" At Belle's flat, when her flatmate offered me "something to celebrate," I declined, realizing I didn't need drugs-all I needed was Bob, not just for that night but for as long as I had the privilege of having him in my life.
One evening at Angel station, a group of Spanish teenagers approached, excitedly pointing at Bob and calling him "Bob the Beeg Issew Cat." When I asked how they knew his name, they explained they'd seen him on YouTube and that "Bob es una estrella en Espana"-Bob was a star in Spain.
At the library the next day, I discovered two videos of us online-one called "Bobcat and I" filmed by a student during our Neal Street days, and another called "Bob The Big Issue Cat" with tens of thousands of views. I was gobsmacked to realize Bob had become an international feline celebrity.
Reflecting on our journey together, I realized Bob truly had saved my life. In the two years since finding him in that half-lit hallway, he'd transformed my world. From being a recovering heroin addict with no direction, I now had stability, a home in Tottenham, a reconnection with my mother after my Australia trip, and was steadily reducing my Subutex dosage with the end of addiction finally in sight.
Though not religious, I wondered if Bob was my karmic reward for something good I'd done, or if perhaps we'd known each other in a previous life. Whatever the case, Bob had guided me toward a better life while asking only for care in return. The road ahead wouldn't be smooth, but I knew that as long as we were together, we'd be fine.
Everybody deserves a second chance, and Bob and I had taken ours. Sometimes, the most profound relationships in our lives come from the most unexpected places. And sometimes, it takes a cat to teach us what it means to be human.
