One last Brad post. Thank you for your indulgence.

Thank God for time.

We are doing better. We are still very sad but we feel like we are crawling out from the depths. We’ve been grateful for distractions, like a weekend away with friends, a sudden need to take on big outdoor and indoor projects, and an intense thunderstorm.

Our friends and family have been nothing short of amazing. We are touched and overwhelmed by how many have shared their tears with us. We are humbled and grateful that so many understand and respect what Brad meant to us. And we have been comforted by wonderful advice (“Grieve well and thoroughly. It pays off.”), empathetic stories, and a spectacular cat made for us by a 6-year-old out of a toilet paper roll, construction paper, and pipe cleaners. Until we got Brad’s ashes back a few days ago, it sat on the mantel in our bedroom. It now has a place of honor on a memento shelf.

A number of people have gently asked if we plan to get another cat. Absolutely, yes. While Brad has a huge place in our hearts, we know we have lots of love to give and there is room for more kitties. We are Cat People who need a pride. But we also don’t want to short-circuit our grieving by getting another kitten too soon. As painful as this process is, we want to honor it and ourselves. And Brad. Although we suspect he's too busy running around outside in Kitty Heaven thinking, "Why didn't they ever let me go outside before? This is AWESOME!!" Rob suggested maybe we start looking around Labor Day weekend for our next cat or cats, since that worked out so well with Brad. We’ll see. One thing we know for certain, though, is that we are going to be very discerning in finding our next kitty. From experience, we know that we will know when we find the right one if we just pay attention.


How Brad Came to Us

Rob had been doing a lot of international business travel and I was getting tired of talking to our apartment’s walls. We had finally saved up the $500 pet deposit and were ready, after not quite 3 years of marriage, to expand our family to three.

I had a 4-day weekend off from work and Rob was heading to Scotland again. As I drove him to the airport that Saturday morning, we reviewed what we had decided: a male kitten, short hair, silver and black striped. After seeing Rob off, I headed straight for the San Francisco SPCA.

I approached the desk and said that I was there to adopt a kitten. Expecting to be welcomed with grateful, open arms for coming to the rescue, I was instead handed a form asking about my lifestyle, home situation, and financial expectations for caring for an animal. As the form was being handed to me, the SPCA Nazi asked, “And do you plan to declaw the cat?”

“Uhhh….no.”

“Why not?”

“Ummm…it seems like it would hurt and that’s what scratching posts are for?"

“OK. Fill this out.”

Completely unaware that I had successfully passed the official Stance on De-Clawing Interrogation, I was soon ushered into the cat area. There were several rooms of cages and high-pitched mews echoed off the linoleum floor.

I wandered around slowly, looking for a silver and black tabby. I eventually found one, cowering in the back corner of a cage. I tried to coax it to come to the front but he wouldn’t budge. A little bit later, I noticed a fluffy black paw reaching out between the metal rungs of a nearby cage, inviting me to play. We were finger-sparring when one of the volunteers came by.

"Would you like to hold him?”

“Huh? Oh. Umm. Sure, why not?”

The cat was black and had long hair. All wrong. This wasn’t my cat but I figured I could give him a little attention as I looked around some more.

So me and this little black fuzz ball wandered around the rest of the cat rooms, looking for a silver and black tabby. The black kitten purred and played with my fingers and happily let me carry him around in the crook of my arm. We couldn’t find any other silver and black tabbies so we went back to the first one. Still cowering. As I stood there wondering how to convince the seemingly perfect cat to notice me, the volunteer came back.

“So you want to take this one then?” he asked, pointing at the little black lump purring on my shoulder.

In a surreal moment I can still feel vividly, of speaking without intending to, I looked at Brad and said, “Yep, he’s the one.”


Why he is named Brad

My grandma was known for having trouble remembering names. It was a huge family joke and it provided lots of laughter, including from Grandma. Although she might call you by the wrong name, it was always a name from within the family. I was often called Peggy, Jennifer, Ginger, or Marion – my mom, cousins, and aunt. My dad, uncle, great uncle, and grandpa all got to share their names, too.

Rob and I only dated for about 4 months before we got engaged, so when my fiancé of just two weeks accompanied me to a family reunion celebrating Grandma and Grandpa’s 50^th wedding anniversary, nobody had heard anything about this Rob guy.

The reunion was just a few days long but that was plenty of time for Grandma to start calling Rob the wrong name. But for the first time in family history, Grandma made up a completely new name. She kept calling him Brad. There was no “Brad” anywhere in the family! This of course prompted even more laughter. For years and years to come.

After almost 3 years of occasionally being called “Brad,” Rob and I thought it would be fun to make an honest woman out of Grandma. Thankfully, our new kitten’s personality just didn’t suit the somewhat formal and punny “Phydeaux” name we had chosen as an alternate. So somewhere along Highway 101 before heading across the Dumbarton Bridge on the way home from the SPCA, “Brad” officially joined the family.

For the next 13 years, Grandma still couldn’t get Rob’s and Brad’s names straight.

“And how’s that Brad doing?” she would ask on the phone. “How’s his job?"

“Oh, he’s doing great, Grandma! No hairballs this week and he’s using his litter box.”

At Grandma’s funeral, Rob got up to say a few words. “Hi, I’m Rob. Some of you know me as Brad.”…

There’s a very good chance that our next cat will be named “Wilma.”