The World According to Bob

‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ I shouted. ‘Put him down, right now or I’ll call the police.’

‘He needs to be taken somewhere safe,’ she said, a slightly crazed expression forming on her reddening face.

Oh God no, she’s going to run off with him, I said to myself, preparing to drop my supply of magazines and set off in hot pursuit through the streets of Islington.

Luckily, she hadn’t quite thought it through because Bob’s long lead was still tethered to my rucksack. For a moment there was a kind of stand-off. But then I saw her eye moving along the lead to the rucksack.

‘No you don’t,’ I said, stepping forward to intercept her.

My movement caught her off guard which in turn gave Bob his chance. He let out another screeching wheeeeow and freed himself from the woman’s grip. He didn’t scratch her but he did dig his paws into her arm which forced her to panic and suddenly drop him on to the pavement.

He landed with a bit of a bump, then stood there for a second growling and hissing and baring his teeth at her. I’d never seen him quite so aggressive towards anyone or anything.

Unbelievably, she used this as an argument against me.

‘Ah, look, see, he’s angry,’ she said, pointing at Bob and addressing the half dozen or more people who were watching events unfold.

‘He’s angry because you just picked him up without his permission,’ I said. ‘He only lets me pick him up.’

She wasn’t giving up that easily. She clearly felt she had some kind of audience and was going to play to them.

‘No, he’s angry because of the way you are treating him,’ she said. ‘Everyone can see that. That’s why he should be taken away from you. He doesn’t want to be with you.’

Again there was a brief impasse while everyone held their breath to see what happened next. It was Bob who broke the silence.

He gave the woman a really disdainful look, then padded his way back towards me. He began rubbing his head against the outside of my leg, and purring noisily when I put my hand down to stroke him.

He then plonked his rear down on the ground and looked up at me again playfully, as if to say, ‘now can we get on with some more tricks?’ Recognising the look, I dipped my hand into my coat pocket and produced a treat. Almost immediately, Bob got up on his hind legs and grabbed hold of my arms. I then popped the treat into his mouth drawing a couple of audible aaahs from somewhere behind me.

There were times when Bob’s intelligence and ability to understand the nuances of what’s going on around him defied belief. This was one such moment.  Bob had played to the crowd totally. It was as if he had wanted to make a statement. It was as if he was saying: ‘I’m with James, and I’m really happy to be with James. And anyone who says otherwise is mistaken. End of story.’ That was certainly the message that most of the onlookers got. One or two of them were familiar faces, people who had bought magazines off me in the past or stopped to say hello to Bob. They turned to the woman in the tweed suit and made their feelings plain.

‘We know this guy, he’s cool,’ one young man in a business suit said.

‘Yes, leave them alone. They’re not doing anyone any harm and he looks after his cat really well,’ another middle-aged lady said. One or two other people made supportive noises. As various other voices chipped in, not one of them backed up the lady in the tweed suit.

The expression that had formed on her face by this point told its own story. She was, by now, even redder than ever, almost purple in fact. She spluttered and grumbled for a moment or two but made no real sense. Clearly the penny had dropped and she realised that she had lost this particular battle. So she turned on her heels and disappeared once more into the crowds, this time — thankfully — permanently.

‘You OK, James?’ one of the onlookers asked me, as I kneeled down to check on Bob. He was purring loudly but his breathing was steady and there was no sign of any injury from when he was dropped to the ground.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I said, not being entirely honest.

I hated it when people implied I was using Bob in some way. It hurt me deeply. In a way we were victims of our circumstances. Bob wanted to be with me, of that I was absolutely certain. He’d proven that time and time again. Unfortunately, at the moment, that meant that he had to spend his days with me on the streets. Those were the simple facts of my life. I didn’t have a choice.

The downside was that this made us easy targets, sitting ducks for people to judge. We were lucky, most people judged us kindly. I had learned to accept that there would always be those who would not.

Chapter 3. The Bobmobile

It was a balmy, early summer afternoon and I had decided to knock off from work early. The sunny weather seemed to have put a smile on everyone’s face and I’d reaped the benefits, selling out my supply of magazines in a few hours.