1It was a cold and wet autumn that year. The trees were soon being stripped of their foliage as the cold winds and heavy rains began to build. On one particular morning, as Bob and I left the block of flats and set off for the bus stop, the sun was once more nowhere to be seen and a light, fine drizzle was falling.

2Bob wasn’t a big fan of the rain so at first I assumed it was to blame for the lethargic way in which he began padding his way along the path. He seemed to be taking each step at a time, almost walking in slow motion. Maybe he’s got second thoughts about joining me today, I said to myself. Or maybe it was true what they said about cats being able to sense bad weather in the air. As I cast an eye up to the sky, a giant bank of steely, grey clouds were hovering over north London like some vast, alien spaceship. It was probably going to be like this all day. There was almost certainly some heavier rain on its way. Maybe Bob was right and we should turn around, I thought for a second. But then I remembered the weekend was coming and we didn’t have enough money to get through it. Beggars can’t be choosers—even if they have been cleared of all charges, I said to myself, trying to make light of the predicament.

3I was never happy to be working on the streets of London but today it seemed an even bigger pain in the butt than usual.

4Bob was still moving at a snail’s pace and it had taken us a couple of minutes to get a hundred yards down the road.

5‘Come on, mate, climb aboard,’ I said, turning around and ushering him up into his normal position.

6He draped himself on my shoulder and we trudged off towards Tottenham High Road and the bus. The rain was already intensifying. Fat, heavy drops of water were bouncing off the pavement. Bob seemed fine as we sploshed our way along, ducking under any available shelter as we went. But as we settled into our bus journey I realised there was more to his low spirits than just the weather.

7The ride was normally one of his favourite parts of the day. Bob was a curious cat. Normally the world was an endlessly interesting place to him. No matter how often we did it, he would never tire of pressing himself against the glass. But today he wasn’t even bothered about taking the window seat—not that he’d have seen much through the condensation and streaks of rain that obscured our view of the outside world. Instead he curled up on my lap. He seemed tired. His body language was droopy. Looking at his eyes he seemed a bit drowsy, as if he was half asleep. He was definitely not his normal, alert self.

8It was when we got off at Tottenham Court Road that he took a distinct turn for the worse. Luckily the rain had eased off a bit by now and I was able to splash my way through the backstreets in the direction of Covent Garden. It wasn’t an easy process and I kept hopping around to sidestep the bigger puddles and the giant umbrellas that flew at me every now and then.

9As we walked down Neal Street I was suddenly aware that Bob was behaving oddly on my shoulder. Rather than sitting there impassively as normal, he was twitching and rocking around.

10‘You all right there, mate? ’ I said, slowing down.

11All of a sudden he began moving in a really agitated way, making weird retching noises as if he was choking or trying to clear his throat. I was convinced he was going to jump or fall off so I placed him down on the street to see what was wrong.

12But before I could even kneel down he began to vomit. It was nothing solid, just bile. But it just kept coming. I could see his body convulsing as he retched and fought to expel whatever it was that was making him sick. For a moment or two I wondered whether it was my fault and he felt queasy because of all the motion today.

13But then he was sick again, retching away and producing more bile. It was clearly more than motion sickness. Pretty soon he didn’t have anything left to bring up, which was puzzling because he’d eaten well the night before and at breakfast. That was when I realised there must be more to it than this. He must have been sick already today, even before we left the flats, probably when he’d been in the garden doing his business. He must have been feeling sick during the bus journey too, I could now see. I blamed myself for not spotting it sooner.

14It’s weird how you react in a situation like that. I’m sure my instincts were the same as any parent or pet owner. All sorts of crazy, sometimes conflicting thoughts rushed through my mind. Had he simply eaten something that disagreed with him this morning? Had he swallowed something in the flat that had set him off? Or was this something more serious? Was he going to drop dead in front of me? I’d heard stories about cats collapsing in front of their owners after drinking cleaning fluids or choking on bits of plastic. For a split second, an image of Bob dying flashed through my head. I managed to pull myself together before my imagination ran riot.

15Come on, James, let’s deal with this sensibly, I told myself.

16I knew that all the retching and the fact that he no longer had any liquid to bring up meant that he was getting dehydrated. If I didn’t do anything he could do damage to one of his organs. I decided that some food and, more importantly, some water, would be a good idea. So I scraped him up and held him in my arms as we walked on to Covent Garden and a general store I knew nearby. I didn’t have much cash on me at all, but I cobbled together enough to buy a liquidised chicken meal that Bob usually loved and some good, mineral water. I didn’t want to risk giving him contaminated tap water. That might make matters even worse.

17I carried him to Covent Garden and placed it down on the pavement near our normal pitch. I got out Bob’s bowl and spooned the chicken into it.

18‘Here we go, mate,’ I said, stroking him as I placed the bowl in front of him.

19Ordinarily he would have pounced immediately and guzzled down a bowl of food at a rate of knots, but not today. Instead he stood and looked at it for a while before he decided to tuck in. Even then he was very tentative about it, only picking at the bowl. He only ate the jelly. He didn’t touch a bit of the meat. Again, it set the alarm bells ringing. This wasn’t the Bob I knew and loved. Something was definitely wrong.

20I half-heartedly set myself up to start selling the magazine. We needed some money to get us through the next few days, especially if I was going to have to take Bob to a vet and pay for some drugs. But my heart really wasn’t in it. I was far more concerned with watching Bob than trying to capture the attention of passers- by. He lay there, impassive, uninterested in anything. Unsurprisingly, not too many people stopped to make a donation. I cut the day short after less than two hours. Bob hadn’t been sick again, but he definitely wasn’t right. I had to get him home to the warmth—and dryness—of the flat.

21I guess I’d been lucky with Bob until now. Ever since I’d taken him under my wing, he had been in perfect health, 100 per cent tip top. He’d had fleas early on but that was to be expected of a street cat. Since I’d treated him for that and given him an early worming treatment, he’d suffered no health problems at all.

22Every now and again I had taken him to the Blue Cross van on Islington Green where he’d been microchipped. The vets and vet nurses there knew him well by now and always commented on what good condition he was in. So this was alien territory for me. I was terrified that it might be something serious. As he lay on my lap on the bus returning to Tottenham, I felt the emotions welling up every now and again. It was all I could do to stop myself from bursting into tears. Bob was the best thing in my life. The thought of losing him was terrifying. I couldn’t keep that thought out of my head.

23When we got home Bob just headed straight for the radiator where he just curled up and went straight to sleep. He stayed there for hours. That night I didn’t sleep much, worrying about him. He’d been too out of it to even follow me to bed and was snoozing under the radiator in the front room. I kept hauling myself out of bed to check on him. I’d creep up in the gloom and listen for the sound of his breathing. One time I was convinced he wasn’t and had to kneel down to place my hand on his diaphragm to make sure it was moving. I couldn’t believe how relieved I was when I found he was purring gently.

24Money was so tight I simply had to go out again the following day. That presented me with a real dilemma. Should I leave Bob in the flat on his own? Or should I wrap him up warm and take him into central London with me so that I could keep an eagle eye on him.

25Luckily the weather was a lot better today. The sun had decided to make an appearance. And when I wandered out of the kitchen with my cereal bowl in my hands, I saw Bob looking up at me. He looked a little perkier today. And when I offered him a little food he nibbled at it a lot more enthusiastically.

26I decided to take him with me. It was still early in the week, so I’d have to wait a few days before I could get him looked at by the Blue Cross van. So, in advance of that, I decided to do some research and headed for the local library where I logged on to a computer and started researching Bob’s symptoms.

27I’d forgotten what a bad idea it is to search through medical websites. They always give you the worst possible scenario.

28I punched in a few key words and came across a couple of informative-looking sites. When I entered the main symptoms - lethargic, vomiting, appetite loss and a few others—a whole swathe of possible illnesses popped up.

29Some weren’t too bad, for instance, it could have been down to hairballs or maybe even a bad case of flatulence. But then I started looking at other possibilities. Just the As in the list were bad enough. They included Addison’s disease, acute kidney disease and arsenic poisoning. As if they weren’t scary enough, other options on the long list included feline leukaemia, colitis, diabetes, lead poisoning, salmonella and tonsillitis. Worst of all, as far as I was concerned, one of the sites said it could be an early sign of bowel cancer.

30By the time I’d been reading for fifteen minutes or so I was a nervous wreck.

31I decided to switch tack and look at the best treatments for vomiting. That was more positive. The sites I looked at suggested plenty of water, rest and supervision. So that was my plan for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I’d basically keep an eye on him around the clock. If he started vomiting again, obviously, I’d head for the vets immediately. If not, I’d go to the Blue Cross on Thursday.

32The next day I decided to stay at home until late in the afternoon to give Bob a good chance to rest. He slept like a log, curled up in his favourite spot. I wanted to keep an eye on him. He seemed OK, so I decided to leave him for three or four hours and try and squeeze in some selling. I didn’t have much option.

33Trudging through the streets that led from Tottenham Court Road to Covent Garden I was aware of my invisibility again. When I got to Covent Garden all everyone could ask was ‘Where’s Bob?’ When I told people that he was ill they were all really concerned. ‘Is he going to be all right?’; ‘Is it serious?’; ‘Is he going to see a vet?’; ‘Is he OK on his own at home?’

34It was then that an idea struck me. I had come across a vet nurse called Rosemary. Her boyfriend, Steve, worked at a comic-book shop near where we sometimes set up. Bob and I would pop in there every now and again and we had become friends. Rosemary had been in there with Steve one day and we’d struck up a conversation about Bob.

35I decided to stick my head in there to see if either of them was around. Luckily Steve was there and gave me a phone number for Rosemary.

36‘She won’t mind you ringing her,’ he said. ‘Especially as it’s about Bob. She loves Bob.’

37When I spoke to Rosemary she asked me a load of questions.

38‘What does he eat? Does he ever eat anything else when he’s out and about? ’ ‘Well, he rummages around in the bins,’ I said.

39It was a habit he had never shaken off. He was an absolute terror. I’d seen him tear the garbage bags to pieces in the kitchen. I’d have to put them outside the front door. He was a street cat. You can take the cat off the street, but you can’t take the street out of the cat.

40I could hear it in her voice, it was as if a light bulb had been switched on.

41‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘That might explain it.’ She prescribed some probiotic medication, some antibiotics and some special liquid to settle the stomach.

42‘What’s your address? ’ she said. ‘I’ll get it biked over to you.’ I was taken aback.

43‘Oh, I’m not sure that I can afford that, Rosemary,’ I said.

44‘No, don’t worry, it won’t cost you anything. I’ll just add it to another delivery in the area,’ she said. ‘This evening OK?’

45‘Yes, great,’ I said.

46I was overwhelmed. Such spontaneous acts of generosity hadn’t exactly been a part of my life in the past few years. Random acts of violence, yes; kindness, no. It was one of the biggest changes that Bob had brought with him. Thanks to him I’d rediscovered the good side of human nature. I had begun to place my trust—and faith—in people again.

47Rosemary was as good as her word. I had no doubt she would be. The bike arrived early that evening and I administered the first doses of the medicine straight away.

48Bob didn’t like the taste of the probiotic. He screwed his face up and recoiled half a step when I gave him his first spoonful of it.

49‘Tough luck, mate,’ I said. ‘If you didn’t stick your face in rubbish bins, you wouldn’t have to take this stuff.’

50The medicine had an almost immediate impact. That night he slept soundly and was a lot friskier the following morning. I had to hold his head in my hand to make sure he swallowed the probiotic.

51By the Thursday he was well on the road to recovery. But, just as a precaution, I decided to pop along to see the Blue Cross van on Islington Green.

52The nurse on duty recognised him immediately and looked concerned when I told her Bob had been under the weather.

53‘Let’s give him a quick check up, shall we? ’ she said.

54She checked his weight and inside his mouth and had a good feel around his body.

55‘All seems well,’ she said. ‘I think he’s on the road to recovery.’ We chatted for a couple of minutes before I headed off.

56‘Just don’t go rummaging in those bins any more, Bob,’ the nurse said as we left the makeshift surgery.

57Seeing Bob sick had a profound effect on me. He had seemed to be such an indestructible cat. I’d never imagined him getting ill. Discovering that he was mortal really shook me.

58It underlined the feeling that had been building inside me for a while now. It was time for me to get myself clean.

59I was fed up with my lifestyle. I was tired of the mind-numbing routing of having to go to the DDU unit every fortnight and the chemist every day. I was tired of feeling like I could slip back into addiction at any time.

60So the next time I went to see my counsellor I asked him about coming off methadone and taking the final step towards becoming completely clean. We’d talked about it before, but I don’t think he’d ever really taken me at my word.

61Today, he could tell I was serious.

62‘Won’t be easy, James,’ he said.

63‘Yeah, I know that. ’

64‘You’ll need to take a drug called Subutex. We can then slowly decrease the dosage of that so that you don’t need to take anything,’ he said.

65‘OK,’ I said.

66‘The transition can be hard, you can have quite severe withdrawal symptoms,’ he said, leaning forward.

67‘That’s my problem,’ I said. ‘But I want to do it. I want to do it for myself and for Bob.’

68‘OK, well, I will get things moving and we will look at beginning the process in a few weeks’ time. ’

69For the first time in years, I felt like I could see the tiniest light at the end of a very dark tunnel.