The World According to Bob

station I put my rucksack on the pavement so that Bob could spread out on it – our regular routine – then started laying out the stack of magazines I’d bought from the local The Big Issue co-ordinator on Islington Green the previous day. I’d set myself a target of selling at least a couple of dozen today because, as usual, I needed the money.
    I was soon being frustrated again.
    Ominous, steely clouds had been hovering above London since mid-morning and before I’d managed to sell a single magazine the heavens opened, forcing Bob and me to take shelter a few yards away from our pitch, in an underpass near a bank and some office buildings.
    Bob is a resilient creature, but he really hates the rain, especially when it was of the freezing cold variety like today. He almost seemed to shrink in it. His bright marmalade coloured coat also seemed to turn a little bit greyer and less noticeable. Unsurprisingly, fewer people than usual stopped to make a fuss over him so I sold fewer magazines than usual too.
    With the rain showing no sign of relenting, Bob was soon making it clear that he didn’t want to hang around. He kept shooting me withering looks and, like some kind of ginger hedgehog, scrunched himself up into a ball. I got the message, but knew the reality. The weekend was approaching and I needed to make enough money to keep us both going. But my stack of magazines was still as thick as when I’d arrived.
    As if the day wasn’t going badly enough, midway through the afternoon a young, uniformed police officer started giving me grief. It wasn’t the first time and I knew it wouldn’t be the last, but I really didn’t need the hassle today. I knew the law; I was perfectly entitled to sell magazines here. I had my registered vendor ID and unless I was causing a public nuisance, I could sell magazines at this spot from dawn ’til dusk. Sadly, he didn’t seem to have anything better to do with his day and insisted on searching me. I had no idea what he was frisking me for, presumably drugs or a dangerous weapon, but he found neither.
    He wasn’t too pleased about that so he resorted to asking questions about Bob. I explained that he was legally registered to me and was micro-chipped. That seemed to worsen his mood even more and he walked off with a look almost as grim as the weather.

    I’d persevered for a few more hours but by early evening, when the office workers had gone home and the streets were beginning to fill with drinkers and kids looking for trouble, I decided to call it quits.
    I felt deflated; I’d barely sold ten magazines and collected only a fraction of what I’d normally expect to make. I’d spent long enough living off tins of reduced price beans and even cheaper loaves of bread to know that I wouldn’t starve. I had enough money to top up the gas and electric meters and buy a meal or two for Bob as well. But it meant I’d probably need to head out to work again over the weekend, something I really hadn’t wanted to do, mainly because there was more rain forecast and I’d been feeling under the weather myself.
    As I sat on the bus home, I could feel the first signs of flu seeping into my bones. I was aching and having hot flushes. Great, that’s all I need , I thought, easing myself deep into my bus seat and settling down to a nap.
    By now the sky had turned an inky black and the streetlights were on full blaze.  There was something about London at night that fascinated Bob. As I drifted in and out of sleep, he sat there staring out of the window, lost in his own world.
    The traffic back to Tottenham was just as bad as it had been in the morning and the bus could only crawl along at a snail’s pace. Somewhere past Newington Green, I must have dropped off to sleep completely.
    I was woken by the sensation of something lightly tapping me on the leg and the feeling of whiskers brushing against my cheek. I opened my eyes to see Bob with his face close to mine, patting me on the knee with his paw.
    ‘What is it?’, I said, slightly grumpily.
    He just tilted his head as if pointing towards the front of the bus. He then started making a move off the seat towards the aisle, throwing me slightly concerned glances as he did so.
    ‘Where are you off to?’, I was about to ask, but then I looked out on to the street and realised where we were.
    ‘Oh, sh*t,’ I said, jumping up out of my seat immediately.
    I grabbed my rucksack and hit the stop button just in the nick of time.