1During those first few days and weeks after the drama at Piccadilly, Bob and I clung to each other like two survivors hanging on to a life raft at sea. We’d both been badly shaken by the incident.

2It made me think long and hard about our friendship. For a while I kept wondering whether his escape had been a signal that he wanted to put some distance between us. Deep down I knew that if he wanted to go back on to the streets—or wherever it was he came from—ultimately there was nothing I could, or should, do to stop him.

3I’d even thought through what I should do if he showed any sign of wanting to run away again. If he did, and I managed to catch him before he disappeared altogether, I decided I’d give him away to the RSPCA or Battersea Dogs and Cats Home where they had a really nice cattery. I didn’t want to be his gaoler. He had been too good a friend to me for me to curtail his freedom. He didn’t deserve that.

4Thankfully though, it hadn’t come to that.

5Once or twice since the incident, he had elected not to go out with me. When I had got the harness out in the morning he had run behind the sofa or hid under the table to tell me he wasn’t up for it. I’d left him to it. But in the main he had been happy to come out every day. And when he had, he had been a slightly different character, more attentive to me but, in a strange way, also more relaxed.

6Despite what had happened at Piccadilly Circus, he wasn’t as frightened in crowds as he had been occasionally in the past. Maybe this was because I now had him clipped to my belt and kept a tighter hold on his lead when he was out.

7The truth was that I think he felt closer to me now. Our bond had been put to the test—and survived. I got the impression that now he wanted to stay by my side more strongly than ever.

8Of course, it hadn’t all been a bed of roses; working on the streets of London, there are bound to be moments when you feel threatened. A couple of weeks after we saw that strange inflated character at Piccadilly we were in Covent Garden when we saw a troupe of street performers on giant stilts. They were old-fashioned French performance artists and had really, garish, scary faces.

9The instant he saw them tottering around above our heads, I could tell Bob felt threatened. He squeezed in close to me. I was trying to concentrate on singing, but every now and again he stopped me from playing the guitar as he flopped his tail over the fret board.

10‘Cut it out, Bob,’ I said, apologising to the one or two tourists who’d stopped to listen.

11Of course, they thought it was funny and part of the act. If only I could manage to get Bob to do what I wanted so easily.

12As soon as the figures on stilts had disappeared it was a completely different story, of course. With them gone he was relaxed again and he moved away from me slightly. It was as if he knew that I was his safety net. I was glad to provide it.

13As Christmas 2007 approached and our first calendar year together drew to a close, our life had settled into a real routine. Each morning I’d get up to find him waiting patiently by his bowl in the kitchen. He’d guzzle down his breakfast then give himself a good wash, licking his paws and face clean. Bob was still very reluctant to do his toilet inside the flat and most mornings I’d take him downstairs to relieve himself. On other occasions I’d leave him out and let him find his own way out to the grass. He’d find his way down and back up again without any trouble. I’d then get ready, pack up my rucksack, grab my guitar and head into town.

14With Christmas only days away, the crowds in Covent Garden were getting bigger and bigger. So too were the number of treats and gifts Bob was getting.

15From the very early days, people had got into the habit of giving Bob little presents.

16The first one came from a middle-aged lady who worked in an office not far from James Street and would regularly stop and talk to us. She’d had a ginger tom herself many years earlier and had told me that Bob reminded her of him.

17She had arrived one evening with a big grin on her face and a smart bag from a fancy pet shop. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I bought Bob a little present,’ she said.

18‘Of course not,’ I said.

19‘It’s not much,’ she said, fishing out a little stuffed figure of a mouse.

20‘It’s got a little catnip in it,’ she smiled. ‘Not a lot, don’t worry.’ There was a part of me that felt awkward about it. Catnip was, after all, addictive to cats. I’d read all sorts of stuff about how it can drive them crazy if they get hooked on it. It was bad enough with me trying desperately to straighten myself out. I didn’t want Bob developing a habit as well.

21But she was too nice a lady to disappoint her. She stayed for a little while, relishing the sight of seeing Bob playing with the little mouse.

22As the weather took a turn for the worse, people began to give Bob more practical presents.

23One day another lady, a striking-looking Russian, sidled up to us smiling.

24‘Hope you don’t mind, but with the weather turning cold, I thought I’d knit Bob something to keep him warm,’ she said, producing a beautiful, light-blue knitted scarf from her shoulder bag.

25‘Wow,’ I said, genuinely taken aback. ‘That’s great.’ I immediately wrapped it around Bob’s neck. It fitted perfectly and looked fantastic. The lady was over the moon. She reappeared a week or two later with a matching blue waistcoat. I was no fashion expert, as anyone who met me would have been able to tell in an instant, but even I could tell that Bob looked amazing in it. People were soon queuing to take photographs of him in it. I should have charged; I would have made a fortune.

26Since then at least half a dozen more people—well, women—had dropped off various items of knitted clothing for Bob.

27One lady had even embroidered the name Bob into the little scarf that she had created for him. It struck me one day that Bob was becoming a fashion model. He was regularly modelling some new creation a kindly soul had made for him. It gave a new meaning to the word ‘catwalk’.

28It just underlined what I’d realised already: that I wasn’t the only one who was forming a deep affection for Bob. He seemed to make friends with almost everyone he met. It was a gift I wished I had myself. I’d never found it that easy to bond with people.

29No one had fallen more deeply in love with Bob than my ex-girlfriend Belle. We were still close friends, probably better friends than when we were together and she would pop round to the flat on a regular basis. It was partly to see me and hang out but I was pretty sure that she was also coming over to see Bob.

30The two of them would play together for hours on the sofa. Bob thought the world of her, I could tell.

31It was about three weeks before Christmas that she came round with a plastic shopping bag in her hand and a big grin on her face.

32‘What have you got in there? ’ I said, sensing she was up to something.

33‘It’s not for you, it’s for Bob,’ she said, teasing me.

34Bob was sitting in his usual spot under the radiator, but perked up the minute he heard his name mentioned.

35‘Bob, come here, I’ve got a surprise for you,’ Belle said, flopping on to the sofa with the bag. He was soon padding over, curious to find out what was inside.

36Belle pulled out a couple of small animal T-shirts. One just had a picture of a cute-looking kitten on it. But the other one was red with green trim on it. It had the words Santa Paws in large white letters with a big paw print underneath it.

37‘Oh, that’s really cool Bob, isn’t it? ’ I said. ‘That’s the perfect thing to wear when we’re in Covent Garden close to Christmas. That will really put a smile on people’s faces.’

38It certainly did that.

39I don’t know if it was the Christmas spirit or simply seeing him in his outfit, but the effect was amazing.

40‘Ah, look it’s Santa Paws,’ I’d hear people say almost every few minutes.

41A lot of people would stop and drop a bit of silver into my guitar case, others, however, wanted to give Bob something.

42On one occasion this very well-heeled lady stopped and started cooing over Bob.

43‘He’s fabulous,’ she said. ‘What would he like for Christmas?’ ‘I don’t know, madam,’ I replied.

44‘Well, put it this way, what does he need? ’ she said.

45‘He could do with a spare harness, I guess. Or something to keep him warm when the weather gets really cold. Or just get him some toys. Every boy likes toys at Christmas. ’

46‘Jolly good,’ she said, getting up and leaving.

47I didn’t think much more of it, but then, about an hour later, the lady reappeared. She had a big grin on her face and was carrying a smart-looking hand-knitted stocking, with cat designs on the front. I looked inside and could see it was stuffed with goodies: food, toys and stuff.

48‘You must promise me that you won’t open it till Christmas,’ she said. ‘You must keep it under your tree until Christmas morning.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t have enough money for a Christmas tree or any decorations in the flat. The best I’d been able to rustle up was a USB Christmas tree that plugged into the battered old Xbox I’d recently found at a charity shop.

49In the days after that, however, I made a decision. She was right. I should have a decent Christmas for once. I had something to celebrate. I had Bob.

50I suppose I’d become desensitised to Christmas because I hadn’t had a decent one in years. I was one of those people who actively dreaded it.

51During the past decade or so I’d spent most of them at places like Shelter, where they did a big Christmas lunch for homeless people. It was all very well meaning and I’d had a laugh or two there. But it just reminded me of what I didn’t have: a normal life and a normal family. It just reminded me that I’d cocked up my life.

52Once or twice I’d spent it on my own, trying to forget the fact that my family was on the other side of the world. Well, most of it. On a couple of occasions, I’d spent the day with my father. After going missing for a year when I first ended up on the streets, I’d stayed in contact, calling him very occasionally and he’d invited me down to his house in south London. But it hadn’t been the greatest of experiences.

53He didn’t really think much of me. I couldn’t really blame him. I wasn’t exactly a son to be proud about.

54I’d been grateful for a nice lunch and a few drinks and, most of all, a bit of company. But it hadn’t really been a great success and we hadn’t done it again.

55This year was different though. I invited Belle round on Christmas Eve for a drink. Then for Christmas Day I splashed out on a ready-made turkey breast with all the trimmings. I wasn’t really into cooking and didn’t have the equipment even if I had been. I got Bob some really nice treats including his favourite chicken meal.

56When Christmas Day arrived we got up reasonably early and went out for a short walk so that Bob could do his business. There were other families from the block heading off to see relatives and friends. We all exchanged ‘Happy Christmases’ and smiles. Even that was more than I’d experienced in a long while.

57Back up at the flat, I gave Bob his stocking. He had spotted it days earlier and had obviously guessed it was meant for him. I emptied the contents one by one.

58There were treats, toys, balls, and little soft things containing catnip. He absolutely loved it and was soon playing with his new toys like an excitable child on Christmas morning. It was pretty adorable.

59I cooked our lunch early in the afternoon, then put a hat on each of us, had a can of beer and watched television for the rest of the afternoon and evening. It was the best Christmas I’d had in years.