'Since Bob has appeared, I've made huge strides in my life. For more than a decade I was a homeless drug addict. I was lost to the world and had forgotten what was important in life. Now I've got myself back on my two feet, but as I put the past behind me, I'm still stepping unsteadily into the future. I still need help in the right direction. Bob is always there to offer guidance and friendship.' James and his street cat Bob have been on a remarkable journey together. In the years since their story ended in the bestselling A STREET CAT NAMED BOB James, with Bob's help, has begun to find his way back to the real world. Almost every day, Bob provides moments of intelligence, bravery and humour, at the same time opening his human friend's eyes to important truths about friendship, loyalty, trust — and the meaning of happiness. In the continuing tale of their life together James shows the many ways in which Bob has been his protector and guardian angel through times of illness, hardship, even life-threatening danger. As they high five together for their crowds of admirers, James knows that the tricks he's taught Bob are nothing compared to the lessons he's learnt from his street-wise cat.
For all those who devote their lives to helping the homeless and animals in distress
There is something about the presence of a cat… that seems to take the bite out of being alone.
If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man but deteriorate the cat.
It had been one of those days, the type where anything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
It had begun when my alarm had failed to go off and I’d overslept which meant that my cat, Bob, and I were already running late when we set off to catch the bus near my flat in Tottenham, north London on our way to Islington, where I sold the homeless magazine
Bob was sitting in his usual position, half-asleep on the seat next to me when he suddenly lifted his head, looking around suspiciously. In the two years since I’d met him, Bob’s ability to sniff trouble had been pretty near infallible. Within moments the bus was filled with an acrid, burning smell and the panicked driver was announcing that our journey was being ‘terminated’ and we all had to get off. ‘Immediately.’
It wasn’t quite the evacuation of the
We had come to a halt opposite a new building site from where icy winds were whipping in at a rate of knots. I was glad that, while dashing out of my flat, I’d hurriedly wrapped a particularly thick, woollen scarf around Bob’s neck.
The crisis turned out to be nothing more serious than an overheated engine but the driver had to wait for a bus company mechanic to fix it. So, amid much grumbling and complaining, about two dozen of us were left standing on the freezing cold pavement for almost half an hour while we waited for a replacement bus.
The late morning traffic was terrible, so by the time Bob and I hopped off at our destination, Islington Green, we had been on the road for more than an hour and a half. We were now seriously late. I was going to miss the lunchtime rush, one of the most lucrative times for selling the magazine.
As usual, the five minute walk to our pitch at Angel tube station was a stop-start affair. It always was when I had Bob with me. Sometimes I walked with him on a leather lead, but more often than not we travelled with him perched on my shoulders, gazing curiously out at the world, like the lookout on the prow of a ship. It wasn’t something people were used to seeing every day of the week, so we could never walk more than ten yards without someone wanting to say hello and stroke him, or take a photograph. That didn’t bother me at all. He was a charismatic, striking-looking fellow and I knew he relished the attention, provided it was friendly. Unfortunately, that wasn’t something that could be guaranteed.
The first person to stop us today was a little Russian lady who clearly knew as much about handling cats as I did about reciting Russian poetry.
‘Oh,
Bob’s instant reaction was to lash out, fending her off with a wild wave of his paw and a very loud and emphatic
‘It OK, it OK. I only want to be friend,’ she said, looking as white as a sheet. She was quite elderly and I was worried that she might keel over from a heart attack. ‘You should never do that to an animal, Madam,’ I told her, smiling and being as polite as possible. ‘How would you react if someone tried to put their hands on your face? You’re lucky he didn’t scratch you.’
‘I no mean to upset him,’ she said.
I felt a bit sorry for her.
‘Come on you two, let’s be friends,’ I said, trying to act as the peacemaker.
