Grief & Tech: A Story of Brian the Cat

TW: death of beloved pet

I was away when each of my childhood pets died. It wasn’t my choice or decision. But death never waits.

It was also not my intention to open this blog with a story of grief. I had a plan - discuss sensitivity and technology. Move into AI. Explore authenticity and slowing down.

All those things are still coming. But grief? She has her own plan. And I shall honor it.

***

We lost our childhood cat last Monday, on Tweede Pinksterdag (White Monday) here in the Netherlands. A traditional feast day. My fiancé and I were feasting away, on fries and chips, devouring junk food and board games. Perhaps not the feasts of old, but a sacred and joyous day together as a couple, nonetheless.

Then the text came from my Mom. “We are saying our goodbyes.” The waterworks exploded. Our childhood cat, Brian, had been sick. I had said a virtual goodbye to him on the phone a few days before. He was skinny, not eating, and seemed stressed as my mom held the phone to him. He was tired. I told him I loved him. I thanked him. And then not wanting to stress him more, the goodbye ended.

***

At 15 he’s had a good life for a large Maine Coon cat. Found as a teeny tiny kitten roaming the streets of my hometown, malnourished with mites in his ears, he wiggled his way into the heart of my teenage sister, who brought him home one day. We christened him “Brian,” from Monty Python’s the “Life of Brian.”

Brian became a handsome menace - good looking (and he knew it!) yet exacting. At 15 pounds, he was the size of a small dog and had the personality of an oversized king. He was talkative and often communicated in short little meows and squeaks. He walked with his periscope tail, fluffy and perfectly puffed, held erect like a scepter. He was curious, but not adventurous, an indoor cat who had no problem exploring every inch and new box the house had to offer within the safe confines of the home. He bossed every member of the house around - including our dogs, Cassie and Rusty (mostly the latter). He’d be petted as he pleased but no more. Later in life, he demanded to sit by the door with the door cracked - not to go outside, but to sample the fresh morning air, every day. He needed his daily nap at the same time, and to consistently sit down to cuddle to watch TV after dinner. He even liked to be put to bed - his own spacious room in the basement with lots of hiding places where he could go explore at night.

Failure to acquiesce to his rule was met with a slash of a claw. He was Lord of the House. From a mite-infested little kitten, he grew into a proud, regal, unforgettable mighty force.

***

As my parents took him to the vet and I awaited the message he was gone, I cried for hours and watched old videos and sampled photos of him in all his royal glory. Magnificent. Fluffy. Demanding. Proud. A personality to behold. A true someone, not something.

I thought of Cassie and Rusty, their deaths also occurring far away. A tearful video call goodbye to Cassie while away at an internship in 2016. In 2021 receiving the message from my mom that, Rusty, who I thankfully got to see shortly prior to his death in person, was gone. The waves of grief. The pictures. The videos. And then, the gratitude that I got to know them and the lessons that they taught me.

***

When I think of tech and sensitivity, I tend to think of overstimulation. Notifications. Information overload. Stress. Speed. Noise. It’s why I wanted to be a coach for sensitive humans in the first place - to empower individuals to just be, to sit, to feel, and to choose.

However, I want to honor the way tech can also serve us in our most human moments. When we choose to use it in a manner that serves us, it will serve. To say goodbye. To process grief. To be human.

With the deaths of my beloved pet family members - Cassie, Rusty, and now Brian - tech helped bring us together. Messages to stay updated by my mom. Video calls to see them one last time.

It helped me to love and honor them from far away - the hours late into the night after they died that I spent perusing photos and videos to remember a childhood with a very special friend, each photo a cherished gift that complemented my own memories.

***

Last night, while perusing photos and videos of Brian, I came across a gem of a video I did not remember having. The video was from 2013 of Rusty and Brian having a little spat, swatting at each other, over a Kong Brian had unceremoniously seized from the dogs. It was filmed by a high school boyfriend of mine.

During the video, I ask him if he is recording. He replies in the affirmative, and goes on to say:

It's a good memory. Whatever happens, it's a good memory.

Yes, it most certainly is.

Are you or someone you love experiencing grief? Make sure you have the support that you need - whether it be family, friends, a doctor or mental health professional, or a trusted faith community. Please reach out to the local support in your community that best serves you.

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