by James Bowen
It reinforced something that I had long believed in. That we should all listen to our instincts, to our gut feelings. They are invariably right.
Change One Person’s World
Bob and I were sitting in a doorway, taking shelter from the rain. It was literally bouncing off the pavement; there was little prospect of us selling any magazines.
But then, out of nowhere, we were approached by a very striking young lady. She was pretty with dark hair and was wearing a yellow raincoat.
Judging from her accent, she was Russian – or something like that. She leaned down and gave Bob a gentle ruffle on the back of the neck. I noticed that she was wearing a bracelet with an inscription in another language. I asked her what it meant.
She smiled. ‘It’s an expression from Estonia. Where I’m from. It says: Who does not thank for little, will not thank for much.’
‘How true that is,’ I said, smiling back.
She spent a few minutes with us, chatting quietly about nothing in particular. She gave me a couple of pounds for a magazine, before giving Bob a final nuzzle and heading off.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
I gave her a little hug.
‘No, thank you,’ I said.
The biggest impact can sometimes come from the smallest acts. What that lady did that evening was such a little thing. It took her only a few moments, but it meant a great deal to me. You don’t have to change the whole world to help someone, sometimes it’s enough to change that person’s world for a few moments.
Find Your Bliss
When Bob and I were busking, I was always surprised at how relaxed he was, sitting amongst the crowds in Covent Garden and around Piccadilly.
On the rare occasion he did get agitated, there was something that was always liable to calm him down: music. As soon as I started strumming away at my guitar, his body language changed. He seemed more mellow. His tail-wagging fell into the distinctive, windscreen-wiper pattern that indicated he was happy. That he had found his own form of bliss.
More recently, if I am recording music in my little studio at home, he has to sit directly behind me when the sound is booming out. No matter how loud it gets, and it can get very loud, he wants to be there.
Music has, at various times, been my own salvation. Seeing its impact on Bob has underlined to me that we all have something that has the power to soothe, restore and lift us when we need it.
We all need to find our bliss sometimes.
The Courage to Ask
I was sitting outside a coffee shop in Islington with Bob. It was a very hippyish place; inside the walls were covered in little bits of philosophy. Sayings, mantras. Little slices of wisdom.
One had jumped out at me as I’d ordered my coffee.
‘Be strong enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help and brave enough to ask for it.’
It made me think immediately of Bob.
When he’d been injured, he had managed to remove himself from the danger he faced and position himself in my block of flats. He had somehow worked out that it was his best chance of getting some help. As it turned out, his instincts had brought him to me.
Of course, his experience echoed my own. When I’d been homeless, I’d put myself in terrible danger. But I’d found the strength to remove myself, to recognise that I needed to beat my drug addiction and to seek out the treatment I needed.
These days, when I’m doing charity work, I am frequently asked to offer advice to addicts or homeless people who feel lost and unable to escape their fates. I often refer to that saying in the coffee shop.
At our lowest ebbs, we all need to find the strength to stand alone, the intelligence to know we need help – and, most of all, the courage to ask.
New Isn’t Always Better
Bob’s favourite toy for many years was his ‘raggedy’ mouse. It was a battered old fabric animal with buttons for eyes and a string tail. He loved tugging and tearing at it, flinging and flipping it around the room so that he could chase after it. After a while it became a tattered rag, a shapeless shadow of its former self, but he didn’t care. Bob loved the thing. He could while away hours playing with it.
I tried replacing it a couple of times, swapping it for newer toys, but he didn’t take an interest in any of them. Instead he stalked the flat looking for his old mouse. Once I put it in the bin, but even then he sniffed it out.
I was genuinely worried that it might be harmful to him, that the old fabric might be infected. And I was sure that he should have something newer, shinier, more exciting. But I was totally missing the point.
I was seeing things from my perspective. To me his raggedy mouse was a sad, broken thing. Fit only for the dustbin. But Bob saw it completely differently. It was his toy. It made him happy. It provided him with stimulation, entertainment and escape. He didn’t need anything else. He kept it for years after that.
Everyone today is so obsessed with having the new version of everything. The latest version phone, laptop, video game, fashion item. But why? If they are doing their job, do we really need them? Is new necessarily better? If we stopped and thought about it, we’d probably be just as happy with what we already have.
Silver Linings
Working with Bob on the set of the movie about us was demanding work – and not only because we often had to get up at 5 a.m. in the morning to get to the set on time.
Unlike the ‘professional’ cats on the set, Bob wasn’t trained to act for the cameras and would frequently do unpredictable things. Often, for instance, he would drop his head or turn around, when the cameramen wanted him to look directly into the lens.
I had to develop a repertoire of tricks and ploys to keep his eye-line where the cameraman needed it to be. I did everything from positioning myself behind the camera, clicking my fingers, to pointing a laser pen at the walls to make him look around the room.
It was inevitable that he wouldn’t always stick to the script. But the director, Roger Spottiswoode, used Bob’s odd moments of improvisation to good effect.
One day, rather than sitting still for the camera as required, Bob started chasing the laser pen around the room. Roger kept the cameras going and used the footage in another scene in which Bob is seen pursuing a mouse.
It was a reminder that life rarely goes exactly to plan. But we can always turn difficulties to our advantage. Every cloud has a silver lining, as they say. We should always look for that positive.
We All Have Something to Give
It was a week before Christmas and Bob and I were struggling to make ends meet during a spell of cold weather. We were busking near Shaftesbury Avenue one evening, when a Salvation Army band and choir arrived and began singing the Christmas carol, ‘In the Bleak Midwinter.’ I found myself drawn in by the words, in particular to the final verse:
What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb.
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.
Times were hard and I suddenly felt sorry for myself.
Ha, I thought. What do I have to give? Nothing.
But I was wrong.
Just then a lady passed by. She was in her fifties, smartly dressed, but looking a little emotional.
‘Would you mind if I had a moment with him?’ she said, seeing Bob. ‘Of course,’ I replied.
As she sat and stroked Bob, we began chatting. It turned out it was the anniversary of her son’s death. She was no longer married to the boy’s father and was heading home to an empty house. She’d had a cat, but it had died six months earlier, too.
‘I’m dreading tonight,’ she said, dabbing away a tear. ‘I’ll be all alone there with my memories. You are so lucky to have Bob here with you.’
It stopped me in my tracks. I felt such a fool.
We all have something to give. No matter how small or trivial we might think it is, it could mean the world to someone else. No ma
tter how sorry we are feeling for ourselves, we should never forget it.
The Power of Hope
Bob seems to be able to lift and inspire people wherever we go. He has put smiles on faces, young and old. Moved many to tears. To be honest, it was hard for me to understand this at first. How could the story of a cat helping to transform the life of a troubled young man have touched so many people in so many parts of the world?
An encounter in Oslo, in Norway, shone a light.
Our publishers there had arranged for Bob to meet a lady called Anne. She was blind, but had read the Braille versions of our books and become one of our biggest fans in Norway.
She was beside herself with joy at meeting Bob, even though – obviously – she couldn’t see him.
He doesn’t always respond to being touched, especially in busy situations, but when she began stroking him, he reciprocated by rubbing his head against her. It was as if he sensed how important this moment was to her.
Through an interpreter, someone asked her what it was that had struck such a powerful chord in her. Her answer came down to one word: hope.
The hope she’d seen in the story of Bob and me had shone light in her darkness, she said. It had given her hope where, often, she’d not had very much at all. It was a simple answer. And a profound one, too. It made me realise that we all need to feel hope. And it doesn’t matter where we see or find it.
We Are Not Alone
In 2017, Bob and I were fortunate enough to visit Tokyo to attend the Japanese premiere of the movie of A Street Cat Named Bob .
Away from all the glamour, the most affecting moment came when we were introduced to two The Big Issue sellers, Akira and Shinzo. Shinzo had a cat, too, a stray that he had named Mi. He had been living a pretty simple existence, living off scraps of food and sleeping rough. He’d tried selling The Big Issue , but found it very hard going. He couldn’t attract people’s attention. Mi had changed his fortunes immediately.
‘People were more open to me,’ he said. ‘They stopped and talked.’
Akira had a similar story. He had briefly found a cat abandoned in a park. He had looked after it for two weeks before it was reunited with its owner. In that fortnight, he’d started taking the cat with him to sell The Big Issue outside the main railway station, where he had his pitch.
‘I was no longer invisible. You know how that feels?’ he said to me.
‘Yes, I do,’ I nodded. I told him that it had only been when Bob had come into my life that people had ‘seen’ me.
It was as if I was looking into a mirror. We all think we are unique. That no one can have had it is as bad as us. That is wrong.
No matter how desperate your situation. No matter how isolated and alone you might feel, the truth is you aren’t alone at all. There is someone out there just like you. Going through the same things. It needed Bob to take me to the other side of the world to show me that.
Never Waste a Second Chance
Bob and I were far from home, at a book signing in Berlin.
We’d been busy meeting people for about an hour, when I looked up into the long queue and was drawn to a face in the crowd. At first, I couldn’t quite believe it. It can’t be her, I told myself. What was she doing here in Germany? But as she drew closer and closer to the front of the line, I saw that it really was her. I don’t want to identify her, so let’s call her Hannah.
Around eight or nine years ago, Hannah’s life had been as much of a mess as mine. She, too, had been homeless and addicted to heroin. We had often slept rough in the same places in London. I hadn’t seen her since those dark days.
Now, to my utter amazement, here she was – standing in line in a bookshop in Berlin. We met up afterwards and caught up. She told me that she had left London and her past to make a new life for herself. She told me that she was clean and in a relationship. Her face positively glowed with health and happiness. We promised each other that we would see each other again. (And we did. I returned to Berlin afterwards to spend more time with her.)
It was only in the days and hours that followed, the significance of the moment hit home. Like Hannah, I know that the battle against addiction is a daily one. It doesn’t go away. It never will. But we have both found hope. And we can see the way ahead. Many of those with whom we shared those dark and distant days on the street were not so fortunate. We were the lucky ones that got out alive.
We are all gifted second chances in life. But those chances are worthless, unless we learn from the mistakes we made first time around.
There But For the Grace of God . . .
We were walking through the West End one winter evening, when Bob started getting agitated. At first, I thought it was the cold weather, but then I realised we were being followed.
Like Bob, I’d developed a radar for this over the years. I turned and spotted the guy in the throng. He was a young, slightly built lad, with greasy hair and a rucksack on his back.
We needed to cut through a small alleyway to get to the station. We’d barely entered the narrow street, when Bob let out a loud, whew noise. The young guy had lurched at us, grabbing at my rucksack.
I’m quite capable of looking after myself – as is Bob. Between us we pushed him away. He ran off, but only made it a few yards before he tripped and fell to the ground. The kid hauled himself to his knees and started crying.
Rather than send him off, I sat with him for a few minutes, talking. I could see he was desperate. He’d run away from an abusive home in the north of England without a penny to his name. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week and had barely eaten. I told him about the best shelters to go to and wrote down a couple of phone numbers for charities that I knew might help. I also gave him some money. It was the least I could do.
If there was one lesson I’d learned during my time sleeping rough, it was that life on the streets dehumanises people. The desperation, loneliness and lack of decent, human contact drags you down. And in the process, you lose all sense of yourself – of what’s right and wrong. It had happened to me.
In fact, I could see my younger self in this lad.
We are all too quick to rush to judgment. We all forget that, with a tiny twist of fate, any one of us could find ourselves on the street.
There, but for the grace of God, go all of us.
Don’t Forget Where You Came From
Bob and I were approaching the end of a big book signing in London. We’d been meeting and greeting people for three hours and there was still a huge queue snaking around the store.
The managers of the bookshop had decided that they couldn’t let any more people in. Reluctantly, I’d agreed to let them stop anyone else joining the line.
As usual, I had a couple of trusty friends helping me. One of them came in looking concerned. ‘There’s a mother and daughter here who caught the train down this morning from Glasgow. The train got delayed and they’ve just got here. They’ve been told they can’t meet you and Bob. They’re really upset.’
‘Tell them to hang around,’ I whispered in his ear.
At the end of the signing, the friend led them over. I let them sit down and stroke Bob for a minute while we chatted. I’d expected him to be exhausted by the end of a marathon signing, but he was as good as gold with them.
‘We’re so grateful,’ the daughter said as, eventually, I told them we’d have to head off. ‘It’s Mum’s birthday.’
I smiled.
‘I think you’ve got it wrong there,’ I said, giving the mother a hug. ‘It’s me who should be grateful. Without people like you, I’d never have made it off the streets.’
We’re all guilty of forgetting our origins sometimes. But we shouldn’t ever forget how we got to where we are in our lives – and to be thankful to those who helped us get there.
Let Life Surprise You
To say that the recent transformation in my life was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. Never in a million years would I have imagined I’d
be approached to write a book about my friendship with Bob. Never in a million years would I have anticipated that it would become a bestseller around the world.
And if I had told anyone that it would be turned into a movie, and premiered in the West End with Bob and I being introduced to the future Queen of England beforehand, then quite rightly, they would have thought I was utterly insane. Yet it did happen.
It’s been said that wisdom is the ability to learn from change. Well, if I haven’t acquired some wisdom – some perspective – from the massive changes that have occurred in my life, there is little hope for me. One of the simplest things I’ve learned is that sometimes you have to let fate play its hand.
Sometimes the best things happen unexpectedly. For seemingly no reason at all. There’s nothing you can do about it. So the best thing you can do is just let go.
Let go – and let life surprise you.
Money Can’t Buy You Love
Bob and I were sitting in a very swanky hotel room in Tokyo. It had been a busy day and I’d treated us to a really nice dinner, on room service: a delicious steak for me and gourmet chicken cat food for Bob. It truly was five-star luxury.
As I sat there enjoying my meal, I couldn’t help but think back over our time together and other, much less fancy meals we’d had. I remembered the first night that we’d gone busking together in Covent Garden and how, thanks to Bob’s charisma, I’d earned two or three times what I would normally have earned. I’d treated myself to a curry and him to a tin of tuna. Back then I’d been used to eating from tins. Or living simply off breakfast cereal.
