1As the fortnight drew to a close, I realised that I had to think about getting Bob out of the flat and back on to the streets. That’s where he had come from— and I assumed that’s where he would want to return.

2He’d continued to make really good progress and looked much healthier than he had done when I first met him. He’d fattened up a lot more too.

3So a day or two after I’d completed the course of medicine and he’d recovered fully from his op, I took Bob downstairs and out through the hallway. I led him down the path and out towards the gate then pointed him in the direction of the street.

4He just stood there, fixed to the spot, looking at me confused, as if to say: ‘What do you want me to do?’

5‘Go, go, go on,’ I said, making sweeping movements with my hands.

6It had no effect whatsoever.

7For a moment I just stood there, engaged in a miniature staring competition with him. But then he just turned on his heels and padded off, not in the direction of the street but towards the patch of ground where he liked to do his business.

8He then dug a hole, covered it all up, and strolled back towards me.

9This time his expression said: ‘OK, I did what you wanted. What now?’ It was then that, for the first time, a thought began to crystallise in my head.

10‘I think you want to hang around,’ I said quietly to him.

11Part of me was pleased. I enjoyed his company and he was certainly a character.

12But, being sensible about it, I knew I shouldn’t let it happen. I was still struggling to look after myself. I was still on a drug dependency programme, and would be for the foreseeable future. How on earth was I going to look after a cat, even one as intelligent and self-sufficient as Bob? It wasn’t fair—on either of us.

13So, with a heavy heart, I decided that I’d have to slowly start easing him out of the flat during the day. When I went to work in the morning, I would no longer leave him in the flat. I’d take him out with me, then leave him outside in the gardens.

14‘Tough love,’ I told myself.

15He didn’t like it one bit.

16The first time I did it, he shot me a look that said ‘traitor’. As I headed off with my guitar over my shoulder, he followed, quietly stalking me, zigzagging across the pavement like some spy, trying to remain unseen. Except it was easy to spot his distinctive ginger fur, bobbing and weaving around.

17Each time I saw him, I’d stop and wave my arms, flamboyantly waving him back. He’d limp away, reluctantly, throwing me a few betrayed looks as he went.

18Eventually he’d get the message and disappear.

19When I got back six or so hours later, he would be waiting for me at the entrance to the flats. Part of me wanted to prevent him from coming in. But that part was overwhelmed by the one that wanted to invite him up to the flat once more to curl up at my feet.

20Over the course of the next few days the pair of us settled into a bit of a routine.

21Each day I’d leave him outside and each night when I got back from busking, I’d find him waiting for me, either outside in an alleyway or—if someone had let him in during the day—sitting on the mat outside my flat. He wasn’t going away, that was obvious.

22I decided I had to take the ultimate step and leave him out overnight. The first night I did it I saw him lurking in the area where the bins were kept. I tried to sneak in without him seeing me. It was a stupid move. He was a cat, he had more senses in one of his whiskers than I had in my entire body. No sooner had I opened the door to the building than he was there squeezing his way in. I left him outside in the hallway that night, but he was on my doormat when I emerged again in the morning. For the next few days we went through the same performance.

23Each day I stepped outside he’d either be hanging around the hallway or would be waiting outside. Each night he’d find a way of getting into the building.

24Eventually he decided that he’d won that particular battle. So I was soon dealing with another problem. He began following me down the main road.

25The first time he came as far as the main road, but returned to the block when I shooed him away. The next time he tailed me for a hundred yards or so down the road, towards Tottenham High Road where I got the bus to Covent Garden.

26A part of me admired his tenacity and sheer perseverance. But another part of me was cursing him. I simply couldn’t shake him off.

27Each day after that he got further and further - becoming bolder and bolder.

28Part of me wondered whether one day, after I left him, he’d actually keep going and find somewhere else to go. But each night I got home, there he was—waiting. I knew that something had to give eventually though. And it did.

29One day I headed out for work as usual. I had packed my large black acoustic guitar with its red trim on the edge of the body, slung it over my shoulder along with my rucksack and headed downstairs.

30I saw Bob was sitting in an alleyway and said hello. When he started to follow me, I shooed him away, as usual.

31‘Stay there, you can’t come where I’m going,’ I said.

32This time he seemed to get the message and slunk off. As I headed down the road, I looked back occasionally to see if he was there, but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he’s finally getting the message, I said to myself.

33To get to the bus stop that would take me to Covent Garden, I had to cross Tottenham High Road, one of the busiest and most dangerous roads in north London. This morning, as usual, cars, lorries and motorbikes were carving their way along the road, trying to pick their way through the clogged traffic.

34As I stood on the pavement, trying to spot a gap so that I could run for the bus that was looming into view a hundred yards or so down the traffic-packed street, I felt someone—or something—rub against my leg. Instinctively, I looked down. I saw a familiar figure standing alongside me. To my horror, I could see that Bob was going through the same process as me, looking for his opportunity to cross.

35‘What the hell are you doing here? ’ I said to him.

36He just looked at me dismissively, as if I’d just asked a really stupid question.

37Then he focused once more on the road, nudging himself nearer the edge of the kerb as if getting ready to make a dash for it.

38I couldn’t let him risk it. It would almost certainly be suicide. So I swept him up and put him on my shoulder, where I knew he liked to sit. He sat there, snuggled up against the side of my head, as I sidestepped and weaved my way through the traffic and crossed the road.

39‘All right, Bob, that’s far enough,’ I said to him as I put him down on the pavement and shooed him away again.

40He sidled off down the street into the throng. Maybe now I’ve seen the last of him, I thought to myself. He really was a long way from home now.

41A few moments later the bus pulled up. It was an old-fashioned red double- decker bus that you could jump on at the back. I went to sit on the bench at the back of the bus and was placing my guitar case in the storage space near where the conductor was standing when, behind me, I saw a sudden flash of ginger fur.

42Before I knew it, Bob had jumped up and plonked himself on the seat next to where I was sitting.

43I was gobsmacked. I realised—finally—that I wasn’t ever going to shake this cat off. But then I realised something else.

44I invited Bob to jump on my lap, which he did in the blink of an eye. A moment or two later, the conductor appeared. She was a cheerful West Indian lady and smiled at Bob, then me.

45‘Is he yours? ’ she said, stroking him.

46‘I guess he must be,’ I said.