A Street Cat Named Bob

‘Hey, gotta go, see you guys around,’ he said, reaching into a pocket in his jacket and producing a wad of cash.

He then dropped a tenner into my hand.

‘Keep it,’ he said, as I began to rummage around for change. ‘You guys have a good day.’

‘We will,’ I promised him. And we did.

It made such a difference that I was now working outside the tube station legitimately. I’d had a couple of moments with some of the familiar faces from the tube station again, one or two of whom had given me some filthy looks. I’d ignored them. The rest of the staff there were actually fine. They knew I was getting on with my job and as long as I didn’t offend or harass anyone, that was fine.

Inevitably, Bob and I had also got a bit of attention from other Big Issue vendors in the area.

I wasn’t so naive as to think that everything was going to be all sweetness and light with the other vendors and assorted street workers. Life on the streets wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a community built on caring for each other, it was a world in which everyone looked after number one. But, to begin with, at least, most of the other Big Issue sellers reacted warmly to the sight of the new guy with a cat on his shoulders.

There had always been vendors around with dogs. One or two of them had been real characters. But, as far as I was aware, there had never been a Big Issue seller with a cat in Covent Garden – or anywhere else in London - before.

Some of the vendors were rather sweet about it. A few of them came up and started stroking him and asking questions about how we met and what I knew about his background. The answer, of course, was nothing. He was a blank slate, a mystery cat, which seemed to endear everyone to him even more.

No one was interested in me, of course. The first thing they’d say when they saw us again was ‘How’s Bob today?’ No one ever asked how I was. But that was OK, that was to be expected. I knew the air of bonhomie wouldn’t last. It never did on the streets.

With Bob at my side I discovered that I could sell as many as thirty or even fifty papers on a good day. At £2 a paper, as they were priced back then, it could add up quite well, especially with the tips that some people gave me – or, more usually, Bob.

One early autumn evening, Bob was sitting on my rucksack, soaking up the last of the day’s sun, when a very well-heeled couple walked past the tube station. To judge by their outfits they were heading for the theatre or maybe even the opera. He was wearing a tuxedo and a bow tie and she had a black silk dress on.

‘You two look very smart,’ I said, as they stopped and started drooling over Bob.

The lady smiled at me but the guy ignored me.

‘He’s gorgeous,’ the lady said. ‘Have you been together for a long time?’

‘Quite a while,’ I said. ‘We kind of found each other on the streets.’

‘Here you go,’ the guy said, suddenly pulling out his wallet and removing a twenty-pound note.

Before I could even reach into my coat to fish out some change, he’d waved me away. ‘No that’s fine, keep it,’ he said, smiling at his companion.

The look she gave him spoke volumes. I had a feeling they were on a first date. She had clearly been impressed by him giving me that much money.

As they walked off I noticed her leaning into him and wrapping her arm into his.

I didn’t care whether it was genuine or not. It was the first time I’d ever been given a twenty-pound drop.

After a few more weeks of trying out the spot at the tube station, I realised that - far from being a ‘bad’ pitch - the tube station was actually ideal for me and Bob. So I was disappointed when Sam told me that having finished my probation period I would be moving to another pitch at the end of the fortnight.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. The thing about being a member of the Big Issue vendor community is that everyone can see how well each other is doing. When the vendors go to the coordinator they can see who has been buying what quantities on a list that’s there for everyone to see. You can read it and spot who has been buying papers in batches of tens and twenties and how many batches they are buying. So during that first fortnight, they would have seen that I was buying a lot of magazines.

It soon became obvious that it was something that had been spotted by some of the other vendors. In that second week I noticed a subtle but definite change in the attitude towards me.

I wasn’t at all surprised when Sam told me that I’d ended my probation and would now be moved to a different pitch. Our new location wasn’t a long way from the tube station, on the corner of Neal Street and Short’s Gardens, outside a shoe shop called Size.

I got the distinct feeling that the older hands had taken a dislike to me and Bob and hadn’t taken too kindly to us doing so well out of what was supposed to be a bad pitch. For once, however, I buttoned my lip and accepted it. Choose your battles, James, I counselled myself.

It turned out to be good advice.