Bowen - A gift from bob: how a street cat helped one man learn the meaning of Christmas

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To Penny & Mark

I love you both forever

To the Winters Family Clan

In moments that felt hopeless TMB&A always

brought sunshine & warmth to my life.

Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesnt come from a store.

Dr Seuss

Time spent with cats is never wasted.

Sigmund Freud

It was still a few weeks before Christmas but inside the swish hotel near Trafalgar Square the party was already in full swing. The huge, mirrored ballroom was buzzing; there must have been more than two hundred people milling around, chatting and laughing. A small army of smartly dressed waiters and waitresses were circulating with trays of champagne, wine and tasty-looking canaps. Everyone was in a festive mood.

The lunchtime gathering had been organised by one of the biggest publishers in London and was dotted with well-known authors. Every now and again Id see a face that looked familiar, then realise Id seen them on television or in a newspaper.

To judge by the way they greeted each other with flamboyant hugs and kisses, a lot of the partygoers were old friends. I, on the other hand, barely knew a soul.

A part of me felt a little bit like a gatecrasher, as if I was there on false pretences somehow. Except that I wasnt.

To begin with, the smart, gold-embossed card inviting me and my plus one was still tucked inside my leather jacket, where I intended to keep it as a memento. Also, a few minutes earlier, as everyone had gathered in the room, the hostess of the party, the head of the company, had publicly thanked a few of the authors who had braved the cold weather to be there. One of the names shed singled out had been mine. Well, mine along with that of my plus one for the day, to be precise.

And were really delighted to see James Bowen, accompanied, of course, by his constant companion Bob, shed said to loud applause.

Every head in the room had seemed to turn in my direction. If theyd all been staring at me Id have been overwhelmed with self-consciousness, but fortunately they hadnt. As so often happened these days, all eyes had actually focussed on a point somewhere above my shoulders and the handsome, ginger cat who was perched there, staring out imperiously, like the captain of a galleon, surveying all before him. He was the star attraction. As usual.

It was no exaggeration to say that Bob had saved my life. When Id met him six years earlier hed been a stray, lying injured in the hallway of my block of flats in north London. His arrival had marked a huge turning point in my troubled life. At the time Id been a recovering heroin addict, struggling to complete a methadone programme. I was twenty-eight years old and had spent the best part of a decade sleeping rough and in homeless shelters or sheltered accommodation. I was lost. Caring for Bob had given me the impetus and incentive I needed to turn my life around. Id done that, firstly by busking and selling the homeless magazine The Big Issue, but also by weaning myself off drugs.

Bob was by far the most intelligent and resourceful cat Id ever encountered. Our time together on the streets of London had been eventful but also hugely cathartic. Each day it seemed like he gave me direction, purpose, companionship and, well, a reason to smile.

His impact had been so great that Id been approached to write a book about our adventures together. When it had been published in March 2012, Id not expected it to sell more than a hundred copies if I was lucky. Instead, to my utter amazement, it had become a bestseller, not just in the UK but around the world. Since then Id written a second book about my life on the streets with Bob, as well as a childrens picture book imagining Bobs life before we met. Between them they had sold more than one million copies in the UK alone. It had been this success that had earned Bob and myself an invitation to this particular gathering.

With the speeches over, the party really got into top gear. The waiters were great with Bob and provided me with a couple of bowls so that I could lay out some food and some special cat milk that Id brought along with me. Bob was always a people magnet and today was no exception. Partygoers kept coming up to us wanting to take a picture of Bob and say hello. They would congratulate me on my success and ask about my future plans. For the first time in my life I actually had some and I shared them happily. I was particularly proud of the work I was now doing for homeless and animal charities. I felt like I was giving back to people who had given me a lifeline when Id really needed it. When people asked me how I planned to spend Christmas, I told them how Bob and I, along with my best friend Belle, were going to treat ourselves to a nice West End show and a couple of meals at smart restaurants.

Must be very different from the Christmases you spent a few years ago, one lady said to me. I just smiled and nodded.

Just a little.

At one point there was a small, very well-heeled queue waiting to meet Bob. No matter how hard I tried, I could never quite get used to this kind of attention, even though it was becoming commonplace. A few days before this, for instance, I had spent a day at a London hotel making a film for Japanese television. Back in Japan, I later learned, actors were reconstructing my life with Bob for a dramatisation of our story that was part of this television programme. I couldnt quite get my head around that.

A few months before this we had been on ITV receiving an award at the UKs first televised National Animal Awards, watched by an audience of millions. In many ways my life resembled a dream. I was doing things that I wouldnt have imagined possible, almost on a day-to-day basis. I lived in a constant state of wanting someone to pinch me.

As it turned out, the biggest pinch me moment of the Christmas party came right at the end. We had been there for a couple of hours when the party began to break up. Bob was looking tired in any case, so I was ready to leave. I had knelt down to attach the lead that Bob wore when we were out on the streets together when I became aware of someone standing behind me.

Ive been meaning to come over. Do you think hed mind if I gave him a quick hello? a female voice asked.

Just a moment, please, Im just fixing his harness, I said, turning around and looking up.

I recognised the face immediately. It was the childrens author Jacqueline Wilson, a national treasure in the UK and author of dozens of classic childrens books.

Im not usually short of something to say, but I was lost for words. I was really flummoxed. I think I muttered something about how much I admired her, which was true, and how Belle was a huge fan of her most popular character, Tracy Beaker, which was definitely true.

I have been following your story and I think what the pair of you have achieved is fantastic, she said.

We chatted a little more as we both headed out of the party and into the foyer of the building. It was such a thrill for me. Id felt like an outsider, a usurper, but shed made me feel like I belonged in this world.