Джеймс Боуэн - A Street Cat Named Bob

There wasn’t even any point in me applying to do a training course in computing because they wouldn’t accept me. Officially I was still on a drug rehabilitation programme. I was living in sheltered accommodation and didn’t even have an O level to my name. They wouldn’t - and probably couldn’t - touch me with a bargepole. All in all, I was a non-starter when it came to getting a normal job. Whatever normal is.

I realised quickly that there was only one realistic alternative. I didn’t have the luxury of being able to wait for something to turn up. I needed to make money to look after myself and Bob. So a couple of days after the court hearing I set off with Bob for Covent Garden - for the first time in years, without my guitar on my back. When I got to the piazza I headed straight for the spot where I knew I’d probably find a girl called Sam, the area’s Big Issue coordinator.

I had tried selling the Big Issue before, back in 1998 and 1999 when I first ended up on the streets. I’d got myself accredited and worked the streets around Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square. It hadn’t worked out. I’d lasted less than a year before I gave it up.

I could still remember how difficult it was.

When I was selling the Big Issue , so many people used to come up to me and snarl ‘get a job’. That used to really upset me. They didn’t realise that selling the Big Issue is a job. In fact, being a Big Issue seller effectively means you are running your own business. When I was selling the magazine I had overheads. I had to buy copies to sell. So each day I turned up at the coordinator’s stand I had to have at least a few quid in order to buy a few copies of the magazine. That old saying is as true for Big Issue sellers as it is for anyone else: you have to have money, to make money.

So many people think it’s a complete charity job and that they give the magazines to the sellers for free. That’s just not the case. If it was, people would be selling a lot more than they do. The Big Issue philosophy is that it is helping people to help themselves. But back then I wasn’t really sure I wanted any help. I wasn’t ready for it.

I could still remember some of the grim, soul-destroying days I’d spent sitting on a wet and windy street-corner pitch trying to coax and cajole Londoners to part with their cash in return for a magazine. It was really hard, especially as back then my life was still ruled by drugs. All I usually got for my trouble was a load of abuse or a kick in the ribs.

Most of all it had been hard because I had been invisible. Most people just didn’t give me the time of day. They would do all they could to avoid me, in fact. That’s why I had turned to busking, at least then I had my music to attract people’s attention and let them know I was actually a living, breathing creature. And even then most of them ignored me.

I wouldn’t have even contemplated going back to selling the Big Issue if it hadn’t been for Bob. The way he’d transformed my fortunes - and my spirits - on the streets had been amazing. If I could do as well selling the Big Issue as I’d done busking with Bob then maybe I could take that big step forward. Of course there was only one problem: I had to get them to accept me first.

I found Sam at the spot where the area’s Big Issue sellers gathered to buy their magazines, on a side street off the main piazza of Covent Garden. There were a few vendors there, all men. I recognised one or two of the faces. One of them was a guy called Steve, who I knew was a driver for the magazine. I’d seen him around the place, delivering the magazines on Mondays when the new issues came out.

We’d registered each other’s presence around Covent Garden a couple of times and were a bit wary of each other. I got the distinct impression he wasn’t very pleased to see me, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t come to see him; it was Sam I needed to talk to.

‘Hello, you two not busking today?’ she said, recognising me and Bob and giving him a friendly pat.

‘No, I’m going to have to knock that on the head,’ I said. ‘Bit of trouble with the cops. If I get caught doing it illegally again I’m going to be in big trouble. Can’t risk it now I’ve got Bob to look after. Can I, mate?’

‘OK,’ Sam said, her face immediately signalling that she could see what was coming next.

‘So,’ I said, rocking up and down on my heels. ‘I was wondering—’

Sam smiled and cut me off. ‘Well, it all depends on whether you meet the criteria,’ she said.

‘Oh yeah, I do,’ I said, knowing that as a person in what was known as ‘vulnerable housing’ I was eligible to sell the magazine.

‘But you are going to have to go through all the red tape and go down to Vauxhall to sign up,’ she said.

‘Right.’

‘You know where the offices are?’ she said, reaching for a card.

‘Not sure,’ I said. I was sure the offices had been somewhere else when I’d signed up years ago.

‘Get a bus to Vauxhall and get off by the train station. It’s across the road from there not far from the river on the one-way system,’ she said. ‘Once you’re badged up, just come back here and see me and we can get you going.’

I took the card and headed home with Bob. ‘Better get ourselves organised, Bob,’ I said. ‘We’re going for a job interview.’

I needed to get some paperwork sorted before I could go to the Big Issue office, so the next day I went to see my housing worker. In any case, I was supposed to see her regularly. I explained my current situation and what had happened with the Transport Police. She happily gave me a letter saying that I was living in ‘vulnerable housing’ and that selling the Big Issue would be a good way of helping me get my life back together again.

The day after that I made myself look respectable, got my hair tied back, put on a decent shirt and set off for Vauxhall with all the bits and pieces I needed.

I also took Bob with me. Part of my thinking was that Bob might help me sell magazines in the way that he’d helped me make money busking. He was going to be part of my team, so I wanted to get him registered as well, if that was at all possible.

The Big Issue offices are in an ordinary-looking office block on the south side of the Thames, near Vauxhall Bridge and the MI6 building.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived in the reception area was a large sign saying ‘No Dogs Allowed’. Apparently they used to allow dogs in there but they had banned them as so many dogs had started fighting with each other. It didn’t say anything about cats, however.

After filling in a few bits of paper, I was told to take a seat and wait. After a while I was called in to have an interview with a guy in one of the offices. He was a decent bloke and we chatted for a while. He’d been on the streets himself years ago and had used the Big Issue as a stepping-stone to help get his life together.

I explained my circumstances. He was sympathetic.

‘I know what it’s like out there, James, believe me,’ he said.

It took just a few minutes before he gave me a thumbs-up sign and told me to go and get badged up in another office.

I had to have my photo taken and then wait to get a laminated badge with my vendor number on it. I asked the guy who was issuing the badges whether Bob could have an ID card as well.

‘Sorry,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Pets aren’t allowed to have their own badges. We’ve had this before with dogs. Never with a cat, though.’

‘Well, what about if he is in the picture with me?’ I asked.

He pulled a face, as if to say, I’m not sure about that. But in the end he relented.