The Little Book of Bob

by James Bowen

  When he takes a mouthful, he makes the absolute most of it. He chews away for minutes sometimes, especially if it’s a meaty treat that he particularly enjoys. It’s as though nothing else matters at that precise moment. As if this is the most important thing in the world. It is a lesson for us.

  Doctors, dieticians and wellness experts say that we need to relish and enjoy our food more. There are, apparently, massive benefits to slowing down and relishing every mouthful of food, every sip of a drink. That’s because, by paying proper attention to the flavours, smells and textures of what we put in our mouths, even concentrating on the mechanics of eating, it can make us more aware of the sensations that make us feel alive. It can soothe our bodies, lift anxieties and stresses.

  Maybe Bob knows this already. Perhaps that is why he puts such importance into eating his food.

  S-L-O-W-L-Y Does It

  Bob lives his life at his own speed. And that speed is usually pretty leisurely. He can hit the accelerator pedal sometimes. But in general, he will take things s-l-o-w-l-y.

  We humans imagine we have too much to do and too little time in which to do it. We never allow ourselves an hour to do something that we can cram into ten or twenty minutes. We somehow think it’s wasting time.

  But the truth is the absolute opposite. The only thing being wasted is the experience. Especially if you’d benefit from taking an hour to do it. You are actually punishing yourself.

  Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you also take things s-l-o-w-l-y?

  Know Yourself

  The way that Bob manages himself never fails to impress me. He understands himself perfectly, it seems.

  He reminds me of one of the wisest pieces of Zen philosophy: ‘Knowing others is intelligence; knowing yourself is true wisdom.’

  Express How You Feel

  Bob wastes no time in letting me know when he’s feeling unwell. He makes no pretence about it. He will refuse to move or will lie on my bed, immobile. He will make mewling noises. It’s all designed to get the message across: ‘I’m not well.’

  It is human instinct to deny pain. To soldier on. To deny that we’ve been hurt or are in dis-comfort. We leave it until it becomes unbearable.

  It’s a mistake, of course. Ignore an illness and it is likely to get twice as bad. By acting soon, you give yourself the best chance of recovery.

  Tune in to Nature

  Cats are tuned into nature in a way that we probably don’t yet fully understand. They seem able to detect changes in the weather, and their eating and sleeping habits change considerably through the seasons.

  Come the wintertime, for instance, Bob will sleep for hours on end. As the nights close in and the darkness descends, so he curls up and shuts out the outside world. He knows it’s the season to hibernate, to recharge the batteries in readiness for spring.

  When spring arrives, he sleeps less and is generally more active. Even his body adapts to the change, as he moults and then re-grows his coat according to the seasons.

  We might all benefit from paying a little more attention to the natural cycle of things.

  Say What You Mean, and Mean What You Say

  Bob communicates using a mixture of sounds – from gentle purrs and growls, to hisses and blood-curdling screams. But he can also get his message across using body language, swishing and wagging his tail, or arching his body to make a particular point. What’s most impressive about it all is its simplicity. If he’s got something to say, he gets it across quickly and directly. There is never any room for doubt.

  First thing in the morning, he will slide up along the bed and alert me to the fact that it’s his breakfast time. He may use a variety of methods for this: from purring quietly to jumping forcefully on to my chest, or placing his face inches from mine and letting out an ear-piercing meow .

  Whatever method he uses, however, his message is unmistakeable. I open my eyes and there he is, staring at me with an expression that says: ‘Come on, get up, I’m hungry.’

  I don’t always appreciate it, especially if he wakes me at the crack of dawn on a cold, winter’s morning. But in a world where we can all sometimes take a hundred words when one will do, I have come to admire his directness.

  Bob doesn’t do small talk. It’s all big talk. He says what he means – and means what he says.

  No Means No

  With Bob, no means precisely that. No.

  If he doesn’t want to do something, then that’s that. He won’t do it. No treat, no enticement, no stroke of the head or back will move him. He has made up his mind. End of story. I might as well give up.

  It actually makes life simpler. It keeps things black and white. There are no shades of grey. You accept his decision, and move on. You find an alternative route, or a different way of doing things. No matter how inconvenient or annoying it may be.

  Sometimes, as adults, we all need to learn to say no. It’s our right to do so. Clearly and simply and unambiguously. It may not make everyone happy, all the time. But at least people will know where you – and they – stand.

  A Simple Thank You

  Bob’s tail is a signalling system all of its own.

  If he is swishing it sharply from side to side, it means he is agitated or upset. But if it is moving more slowly and rhythmically – like a windscreen wiper – it’s a sign of contentment. All is well in his world.

  I’ve often wondered why he feels the need to signal this way. I’m sure it isn’t for my benefit. Regardless, I always appreciate seeing that tell-tale, slow-motion wag. To me, it’s as good as him writing me a thank-you note, or sending flowers or a box of chocolates.

  If only others did the same, even unconsciously.

  Silence Is Golden

  Bob has a language all of his own – a highly effective system for communicating precisely what he wants to say. I find it fascinating to behold. It has taught me a lot of useful things about the art of communication.

  There are days, for example, when Bob will sit alongside me barely making a sound from dawn ’til dusk. I never worry about it. It must mean that he is content. If he wasn’t, he would let me know soon enough.

  I often nod and smile wistfully at him. If only that were true in the human world, I think to myself. So many people speak when they have nothing to say. When they would also be better off appreciating that sometimes silence really is golden.

  That the quieter you become, the more you can hear.

  A Social Network

  When Bob and I did our first book signings, I received a number of surprises. For a start, I was amazed – and genuinely moved – by the number of people who turned up to meet us. It was something of a miracle, as far as I was concerned. I didn’t think anyone would be interested.

  But the other really surprising thing was the way Bob reacted to all this attention. He seemed genuinely to lap it up. He didn’t mind people stroking him, within reason. He remained completely in control. If he felt like napping, that’s exactly what he did. And if it was time to go home, then he let me know that in no uncertain terms. But in the main he was happy to interact with people, especially those that had treats for him.

  It set me thinking. There are lots of scientific studies that argue human health and wellbeing is improved by regular, social interaction. In short, isolation is bad for you, but mixing with people – even if it’s for a chat in a shop or the park – is good for you.

  I suspect, again, that cats know this. It’s one of the reasons they have gravitated towards us humans.

  Let the Love In

  I’m sure everyone who has ever had or known a cat will agree with me on this universal truth: they never, ever refuse affection. Bob certainly doesn’t. Start tickling him under his neck, or stroking the back of his neck, and he will press his head against you and lie there. It’s as if he’s saying: ‘Yes, I deserve this attention, please continue.’

  Sometimes, if he feels the need, he will flip himself over and spread himself out, inviting you to direct your tic
kling to his tummy instead. He absolutely loves it and can’t get enough of it. I’ve never spent more than a few minutes stroking him, but I reckon if I carried on for an hour, he’d be perfectly happy.

  It occurred to me once that we could all learn from this. Too many of us reject genuine and sincere affection, whether it is from a friend or a relative, or someone we love. I know I’ve been guilty of this. We do so for many reasons: fear, embarrassment, self-doubt.

  It makes no sense when you think about it. Love is in short supply in this world, so when it is offered to us, we should all embrace it. We should all follow Bob’s lead. We should all let the love in.

  Have Fun – and Often

  Bob is no different to other cats when it comes to play. He loves nothing more than to flip a favourite toy around the room, or to leap manically up and down trying to catch the sunbeams that are dancing on the wall. At Christmas, he can entertain himself for ages with a piece of used wrapping paper.

  It’s as though he is lost in his own world, motivated by who knows what. Is he trying to catch the mouse, or simply exhilarated by the fun of tossing it around the room? Is he intent on tearing the Christmas wrapping into pieces, or does he just love the sound and sensation of the crumpled paper? Who knows. And more importantly, who cares?

  What’s clear is that it provides him with entertainment, a break from his normal routine. And when he’s doing it, the rest of the world is shut out completely. We all need to do that every now and again, don’t we?

  Don’t Be Slaves to the Clock

  Bob, like all cats, obeys his body clock. He knows when the day begins, and when it ends. When it’s time to sleep and eat. Especially, when it’s time to eat. But beyond that, time – as we know it – is of little importance to him. There is no clock dictating how he whiles away the hours each day.

  We are very different, of course. We are slaves to the clock. We dwell on the passing of time, mourn the way moments flash by. We are constantly counting the hours, days, months and years.

  We could learn a lot from Bob’s attitude. We might live more enjoyable, more fulfilling lives. Maybe even longer ones, too?

  Pay No Heed to What Others Think of You

  Cats aren’t burdened by worrying about what other cats think of them. Well, as far as we know, at least.

  I’m pretty convinced that Bob isn’t obsessed with his reputation. He’s not concerned about how many people ‘like’ him on social media. (Even though many thousands do.) He isn’t at all concerned with what people say about him publicly. He’s oblivious to it. Bob just gets on with being himself. Living his day-to-day life and, in doing so, displaying his true character. If that appeals to people, then great. If it doesn’t, no matter. He is who he is – and that’s the way it is.

  If only we could all adopt that attitude.

  Too many of us are eaten up by worrying about what others think and say about us. We would be better off focusing on our true character rather than ‘reputations’ that can rise and fall for no good reason. Being ourselves, saying what we really feel.

  That, after all, is the truth. And that’s what counts in the end.

  Live the Years, Don’t Count Them

  As I write, Bob is now around eleven years old. Perhaps older. As a housebound cat, there’s every possibility he will live well into his teens, even into his twenties. He has no awareness of this, of course. He may be in his middle years now, but he is not going to have a mid-life crisis.

  He isn’t going to suddenly do something dramatic like buy a sports car or run off to a Buddhist retreat in Nepal. He’s not going to totally re-invent himself because he is suddenly aware of his mortality.

  We can never know this, but I imagine that ageing is simply something he feels. He is not counting the years. He is simply living them. Wouldn’t we all benefit from thinking that way sometimes? None of us has to be defined by our chronological age.

  Age really is just a number.

  Don’t Grow Up

  Bob may be older, but he is definitely still in touch with his inner kitten. The younger, more playful part of him is always there.

  Sometimes he will play with a toy, chase the reflection of glass on the wall. At other times he will find a cardboard box or a piece of paper and entertain himself by playing with it.

  It’s proof of something that I heard once: it is easier to grow old if you haven’t entirely grown up. Perhaps we should all see the world that way.

  It’s the Life in Your Years

  Even as he gets older, Bob lives his life to the full, doing precisely what he wants, when he wants to do it.

  If he wants to spend his day curled up in a ball watching the world go by, he will do so. If he wants to spend it playing or chasing things around the house, he will do so. He is living on his own terms, oblivious to the passing of time.

  Sometimes I look at him and think he is an embodiment of another old saying: ‘It’s not the years in your life that count, it’s the life in your years.’

  Stay Open to Change

  As Bob has grown older, he has subtly changed his ways.

  He gives himself more time to rest and recuperate. If he’s had a busy day, he will sleep an extra hour. He may also start his day a little later the following morning. And he will not be rushed in that process. His eating habits have changed slightly, too. He prefers to eat soft food in the evening now – and likes to eat at 7.30 p.m. Precisely.

  It has all happened naturally and seamlessly. It’s as if his body is telling him that it needs to modify itself. It is something we could all learn from. We all need to stay open to change.

  PART SIX

  The University of Bob – Lessons in Day-to-Day Life

  Sharing my life with Bob is an endless education. There’s something new to be learned every day. Sometimes it is simply from watching him interacting with the world around him. At other times it’s the situations that we find ourselves in – both at home and on our travels together.

  It’s as if I’ve enrolled as a lifetime student at the University of Bob.

  Fall Down Seven Times, Get Up Eight

  I’d arranged to get together with an old friend, Steve, for a drink one summer’s evening.

  We were in the middle of a heatwave, so we sat out in the beer garden. I hung my rucksack on a hook that was attached to the wall, about five feet off the ground. Bob sat on the bench beside me, lapping up the last rays of sunshine.

  I left him and Steve while I popped inside to the bar. When I came back, Steve was smiling broadly.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.

  ‘Bob’s been entertaining me,’ he said.

  ‘What’s he been up to?’

  ‘He’s been trying to snatch something from your bag. I wasn’t sure whether to let him have it or not,’ he replied, pointing at the rucksack, and the distinctive colouring of a packet of snacks that was sticking out from one of the pockets.

  ‘Ah, they’re his favourite treats. So, what did he do?’

  ‘It’s been hilarious. First, he tried jumping straight up in the air to snatch it. But that didn’t work. So then he tried balancing on that chair there, but it wouldn’t hold his weight.’

  I was laughing myself now.

  ‘He came close once,’ Steve said. ‘He jumped off the table and managed to grab a hold of the side of the bag. He was hanging on for grim life with his claws. But he couldn’t hold it and slipped back down again, like a cartoon character.’

  I gave Bob a ruffle on the back of his neck.

  ‘You never give up, do you, mate,’ I said.

  I then reached for the snacks from the rucksack and gave him a couple of treats.

  Steve couldn’t help smiling. He was something of a philosopher. Or liked to think he was, at least.

  ‘They say that’s the secret of life,’ he said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Fall down seven times, get up eight.’

  I smiled. He was right. We should never give in. Perseverance al
ways pays off.

  Trust Your Instincts

  Bob and I were walking through the West End, on our way home after a meeting. I’d decided to head in the direction of our old ‘pitch’ on Neal Street, where my old friend Sam co-ordinated sales of The Big Issue to the area’s small army of vendors. I hadn’t seen her for a while and wanted to say hello.

  We’d not been walking for long when Bob started getting agitated, turning around in circles on my shoulder and making a loud mewling sound.

  I placed him down on the pavement and gave him a snack, then pressed on. He was still unhappy. I’d walked a couple of hundred yards down another street, when I saw a commotion on the corner ahead of me.

  Black smoke was billowing into the air and I could hear fire-engine sirens drawing closer. There were already men in yellow coats cordoning off the area and tourists and shoppers were being hurriedly shepherded away from the scene.

  It was obvious there was a major incident, a fire or perhaps worse, some kind of terrorist incident. So I put Bob on my shoulders and took a circuitous route back to the railway station, from where we would head home to Surrey.

  Thankfully, I learned later from Sam that the incident was a small, household fire, caused by someone leaving their kitchen hob on. No one had been hurt. But it could easily have been something much worse. The incident stuck in my mind, because of the way Bob reacted.

  Cats have highly developed senses that allow them to detect things that we humans cannot, such as earthquakes and major storms. They can also pick up on human illness, epilepsy in particular. Bob had intuitively picked up on something in the West End. Fortunately, my instinct had been to listen to him.