So Loved

A farewell to my beloved fuzzy consigliere, Brian Williams

I’ll level with you right off the top. I did not want to write a column this week. I considered not writing it. The more I thought about not writing it, though, the more I started writing it in my head; the words rolling forward and back — like waves. 

And so, I thought…fine. I’ll write it.

A week ago I wrote about feeling sentimental about the endings that come with new beginnings. At the time, I kept thinking about how we don’t always know that last times are last times. It was something I wanted to put into the piece and I’d write some lines and then delete, write them again and then delete. They just didn’t fit and so, ultimately, I just decided to leave them out. 

I didn’t know they were just on hold for a week.

This column is my 25th and for each of the 24 that came before it, there have been a few constants: whiskers brushing against my hand as I type, an occasional paw on the keyboard, a full-on suspension of writing due to persistent feline activity.

Today, it’s just me and those memories. 

After 17 years on this Earth,15 of them with me, my sweet orange cat, Brian Williams, died Saturday, February 24. 

I named Brian after the former NBC Nightly News anchor. I enjoyed watching his namesake and I think it’s fun to give pets human names.

We first met at the Mohawk Hudson Humane Society in Menands, NY, near Albany. I walked up to a cage at the shelter and said, “Are you Brian Williams?” A paw came through the bars, met my hand and that was that.

A few hours later, Brian ran away — a flash of orange fur out my back door. I was absolutely horrified and crushed. I also felt like a complete failure in the whole “pet rescue” department. I spent days searching for him, shaking a little bag of cat treats but he was nowhere to be found. I remember thinking, “we just met. He won’t even know where home is.”

10 days passed and then my phone rang.

“Are you missing a cat?” Came the voice from the other end. It was a woman at the Humane Society.

“Yes!” I said, suddenly grateful that I had spent the extra ten dollars to have Brian microchipped. I started rattling off the whole story of what happened and how terrible I felt about all of it.

“This doesn’t usually happen,” she explained, “but the police brought him in. An officer saw him and thought he looked like he belonged to somebody.”

He did. 

Over the years, I’ve blanched at the term “cat mom” but decidedly reclaimed, if necessary, “cat lady.” Yes, it’s deployed as a sexist slur but in my experience a woman with a cat is always in good company. The same cannot be said for the humans she invites into her life. 

Brian and I were a team. He was my fuzzy consigliere and loyal loaf and when I had to break the news of his passing to my friends all I could think to say was, “he was so loved.”

And he was. 

I called Brian “The Ambassador for Cats.” People who did not particularly like cats, loved him. People who never even met him but saw him on my social media, loved him. People who could not believe he had more Twitter followers than they did, loved him. 

I loved him… and when I saw him suffering, I stood among my moving boxes and called the Perry Veterinary Clinic to inquire about an appointment. 

“Yes,” they said. “Ten o’clock.”

What happened next is why I wanted to write this column. Just one day after moving back into town, I felt the love of this community. It was here for me on one of the absolutely saddest days of my entire life. 

I cannot thank Dr. Jenna Hill and her team enough for their understanding and compassion. Ditto for Jill and Christa at Butter Meat Co. for coming around the counter to hug me when I stopped in for coffee, apologizing for being a dark cloud on my first visit to their beautiful new shop. 

You do not find this just anywhere. 

One of my dearest friends said it best, “he got you home.”

He did and while I miss his company and unique spirit terribly, I’m forever grateful to have shared such a substantial part of my life with such a sweet little soul.

People ask if there is anything they can do and, of course, just the asking is appreciated but I love to help The Mohawk Hudson Humane Society when I can.   They brought us together, after all.

Donations to help other animals in Brian’s memory can be made at mohawkhumane.org. 

This essay was adapted from one of the same that ran in the March 7, 2024 edition of The Perry Herald in Perry, NY.