The World According to Bob

never to let it happen again. But, again, I could keep saying it until I was blue in the face as far as some people were concerned. For them it was an open and shut case: I was some kind of animal abusing monster.
    The third, and most upsetting allegation that had been made against me was that I was drugging Bob. I’d only heard that a couple of times, thankfully. But it cut me to the quick both times. Given what I’d been through in the past ten years and the battle I’d fought to kick my heroin habit, I found that the most hurtful insult of all. I found it really, really offensive.
    As I watched the Inspector checking Bob I felt pretty certain that someone had raised one, two or even all three of these issues with the RSPCA. But I knew she wasn’t going to tell me, not until she’d completed her examination and written some kind of report, at least.
    She took out a microchip reading device to check that he was micro-chipped, which he was, of course. The device showed up my name and address as Bob’s legal owner.
    ‘That’s a good start,’ she smiled. ‘You’d be surprised how many cat owners don’t chip their pets, even these days.’
    She then checked his fur for fleas, took a look at his teeth and checked his breath, I assumed to see if there was anything wrong with his liver or maybe his kidneys. She also checked his eyes to see if they were cloudy. That made me wonder whether someone had tried to accuse me of drugging him. It made my blood boil to think someone would say that to the RSPCA.
    I didn’t bother busking while all this was going on. Instead I reassured the small scrum of people who had stopped that everything was OK. I just hoped it was.
    As I paced around I tried to put all those thoughts to the back of my head. I had to be positive, I told myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
    After a few minutes she’d finished the inspection and started asking me questions.
    ‘Any health problems that you are aware of, James?’ she asked me, her pen poised over her notebook.
    ‘No,’ I said. I made sure to tell her that I regularly took him to the weekly drop-in Blue Cross clinic in Islington. They had always praised me for the way I looked after him and always gave him a clean bill of health. ‘They’ve not spotted anything so I think he’s pretty healthy,’ I told her.
    ‘That’s good to know, James,’ she said. ‘So tell me, how did you two get together in the first place?’
    I told her the story and she nodded and smiled throughout.
    ‘Sounds like you two were meant to be together,’ she laughed.
    She seemed pretty happy with everything, in fact she looked up and gave me a smile.
    ‘He’s a fine fellow, isn’t he? Don’t suppose you have a phone number that I can reach you on,’ she asked.
    My battered old Nokia was still working – just – so I gave her the number.
    ‘OK, well I’m happy for now but I may need to follow up with another visit. Are you here every day?’
    ‘Yeah, pretty much most days at the moment,’ I said, already feeling uneasy.
    ‘OK, I will give you a call or drop in to see you soon.’
    She then gave Bob a final ruffle and headed off into the crowds.
    On the one hand I was pleased that she had left without any major drama. All sorts of scenarios had been going through my head. What if she’d found something that I didn’t know about, health wise? What if she’d said she needed to take him away? That was the worst conceivable outcome as far as I was concerned. I would have been sick with worry.
    But my relief was tempered by other worries.
    I knew the RSPCA had significant powers when it came to pet owners, from being able to confiscate a pet, to starting legal proceedings against anyone deemed to be guilty of abusing an animal. Why was she doing a follow-up visit? What was she going to tell her superiors? What sort of report was she going to write? What if I was prosecuted and, heaven forbid, Bob was taken away from me? I couldn’t help all these things going through my head, however little control I had over the situation.
    I gave myself a good talking to. I was being paranoid again. That wasn’t going to happen. There was no reason for it. I had to put those thoughts to one side.
    As I headed home that evening, however, I still had a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I had an awful feeling that this was going to hang over me for a while.

    It was about a week later when the RSPCA inspector appeared again. She was a lot friendlier and more