As I’m sure many of you know, James Bowen’s Street Cat Bob died recently. If you’ve no idea who Street Cat Bob is, I’m forced to ask: where have you been – living under a rock? Street Cat Bob is the famous ginger tabby who adopted then-heroin addict James Bowen, every bit as much as Bowen adopted him. Caring for Bob, who had an injury to his leg that needed medical attention, gave James a purpose in life. In looking after Bob, he determined that he needed to give up the drugs for the sake of Bob’s health and well-being. This he managed to do.
Their relationship solidified when Bob insisted upon coming along with Bowen while he busked around London, and sold The Big Issue. Bowen taught Bob to “high five,” and when Bob wasn’t perched on Jame’s shoulder, he could be found sitting nearby, or, perhaps, sitting on Bowen’s guitar while he played. They were a charming pair who became a popular fixture around town.
When a journalist discovered them and wrote an article about them, life took an unexpected turn: a literary agent came into the picture. James wrote a book about how Bob helped turn his life around. A movie followed. The Duchess of Cambridge attended the premier. Other books were written. There were fans in numerous countries. James and Bob seemed to live a charmed life.
There have been times, down the years, when I’ve wondered how Bowen would cope when Bob died. Having lost many beloved pets myself, I knew just how awful the pain would be when that day came. I’ve had a number of pets, in my time, but very few love affairs – those pet relationships that, for whatever reason, went in a direction I couldn’t have predicted if I’d wanted to, where the level of intimacy is so far beyond what one is used to that when death comes, the agony is indescribable. I imagine that James is currently mired deep in that agony.
I was walking round the village, earlier this morning. The air carried on it a scent that immediately called to mind childhood memories: my grandfather’s garden – how he loved purple petunias! The sunny summer days spent with friends, getting up to mischief. Riding my bicycle round the village. The way grass smelt when it was freshly mowed. The freedom, the innocence, of younger days. The feeling that life would go on forever, just as it was. I savoured those memories for a few minutes, but then a pang of sadness washed over me so strongly that I thought, what good is there in having memories when all they do is cause pain?
If you’ve followed my column at all, you’ll know that two years ago, I lost my beloved cat Junebug. I’ve had other cats, but Junebug was that love affair that I mentioned earlier. With her, I experienced a closeness unmatched by any other – including my relationships with humans. I took that relationship for granted, as one tends to do, knowing that Junebug would die, one day, but not anytime soon. Then the time came and I was not prepared. Indeed, even when you know the end is near, you’re never really prepared for how you’re going to feel afterward.
After Junebug’s death, I spent every single night, in bed, waiting to fall asleep, beating myself up over all the times I didn’t comply with her requests for attention. I was crushed by the concept of “gone forever” – a thing I could not grasp in its’ entirety because it was much too big to take in – and I spent many of those nights secretly hoping I would hurry up and die so that I could be with her again. Never have I grieved so deeply, for so long, as I did with Junebug. In truth, I’m only now beginning to feel somewhat normal again.
James Bowen will have to wade through this same morass of grief. It’s the price you pay for loving so completely, so profoundly. My heart goes out to him. The well wishes of a mourning public may touch his emotions and make the days slightly easier, but the nights will be another matter.
I suspect that he will be haunted by whatever slights, real or imagined, that he recalls from their time together: those times when he could’ve done things differently, those times when he was too busy at the moment, and had to put off doing the thing that Bob wanted him to do. He may well be second-guessing decisions he’s made about Bob’s life. These things are only natural, and people do them all the time. But the recriminations can be brutal.
If I had any useful advice for Mr. Bowen, I would share it here. Unfortunately, everyone who loves eventually loses. There’s no escaping it, and time is the only thing that will lessen the depth of despair. I remember something that Sir Paul said after Linda died, to the effect of, She chose me to be her forever lover. How cool is that? I’ve tried to apply that same thinking to my grief over Junebug, in that I grieve so deeply because I was so incredibly blessed to have that relationship to begin with. It’s not much, that sentiment, but it’s a start.
From all of us here at Critter Cottage: James, our thoughts are with you. Street Cat Bob was one of a kind, and his like will never come again. How cool that he chose you to be his forever pal!
