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fine. The following morning, he was a bit perkier and ate a little bit of breakfast. As the nurse had predicted, he didn’t have his normal appetite but he ate half a bowl of his favourite food, which was encouraging. He also wandered around the flat a little bit, although, again, he wasn’t his normal ebullient self.
    Over the next couple of days he began becoming more like the old Bob. Within three days of the op, he was wolfing down his food just like before. I could tell he was still in the occasional bit of pain. He would wince or come to a sudden stop every now and again, but it wasn’t a major problem.
    I knew that he’d still have the odd mad half-hour, but I was glad I’d acted.

Chapter 4
    Ticket To Ride

    As 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.
    He’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.
    So 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.
    He just stood there, fixed to the spot, looking at me confused, as if to say: ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘Go, go, go on,’ I said, making sweeping movements with my hands.
    It had no effect whatsoever.
    For 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. He then dug a hole, covered it all up, and strolled back towards me.
    This 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.
    ‘I think you want to hang around,’ I said quietly to him.
    Part of me was pleased. I enjoyed his company and he was certainly a character. But, 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.
    So, 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.
    ‘Tough love,’ I told myself.
    He didn’t like it one bit.
    The 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.
    Each 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. Eventually he’d get the message and disappear.
    When 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.
    Over the course of the next few days the pair of us settled into a bit of a routine.
    Each 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.
    I decided I had to take the ultimate step and leave him