Brian does not believe in decorating life’s difficulties.
Brian does not believe in fudging the facts.
Brian is a brown tabby, which means he is composed entirely of truth.
At fourteen years of age, Brian has come to believe in a great many things.
Were he a man, he would be seventy-eight. He would believe in stocking up on Stouffer’s Fish Filet when there is a sale. He would believe in paying a little more for sweatpants that last.
He would believe in letting kittens believe they know everything, until they receive the good news that they don’t.
But Brian is braver than any man who ever lived, because he is a brown tabby.
Brian cannot bring himself to believe in blurring reality.
Reality scraped hard against Brian’s stripes. If ever he daubed glitter-glue on his days, that option was lost when Brian lost his person. You do not survive the loss of love without either getting lost forever … or honest with everyone.
Brian is a brown tabby, so he chose wisely.
Let the plush kittens and plastic figurines pretend that everything is excellent at all times. Brian was brave enough to wear broken hearts all over his sleeve.
He did not care that Tabby’s Place had five stars from other cats on Yelp. He did not care that poultry products were ample, and human beings were infatuated with him.
He was sad.
Brian did not care that being publicly sad makes the public uncomfortable. Brian did not care that Miss Manners discourages telling your hosts that they are as disappointing as unbuttered noodles.
He was sad.
He was sad, and he told the truth, because he cared where the caring counts.
If you are a brown tabby, you are marbled with the colors of cinnamon and cloves. If you are a brown tabby, you have the spice to insist on truth.
If you are a fourteen-year-old brown tabby brave enough to be sad, you want nothing more than real relationships.
It was not enough for Brian that we were generically smitten.
To be loved no matter who you are is a grand thing, but it’s not the whole thing. To be loved for precisely who you are takes time.
It takes the full measure of a cat who snarls, swipes, then sweetens into streusel, for reasons he is not compelled to reveal. It takes a ride to the outer limits of reality. It does not kick you out of the car for your sadness.
It takes everything we have.
Brian is a brown tabby, so he expects nothing less than everything.
Brian believes in soulmates, plural. He believes they outnumber the spots on his belly.
He is a realist, not a pessimist. He was loved so well the first time, that he believes it was not the last time.
But soulmates must speak freely.
If there is something between them, they must not let it fester.
This is why Brian is brave. He can stop mid-skritch to squawk. He will abandon squeeze-tuna to pursue sincerity. He will confuse you, in the interest of making things clear.
And it’s clear: something does stand between us.
We stand across from Brian as though across a chasm.
He will not let us look away from this barrier.
It is a cloud of love, big as a boulder. Some days it is glitter; some days it is dust. It swirls with sadness, anger, and ten trillion striped hairs. It is thick and sticky, and it will not wash out of your clothes, eyebrows, or attitudes.
We can’t get to each other unless we step into it and keep stepping.
We can’t get to each other unless we let ourselves get covered in the stuff.
Brian believes in breading himself with bravery.
Brian believes he will love and be loved with all of his strength again.
We dare not underestimate that strength. He is, after all, a brown tabby.
PS: Brian’s belief has become reality. As you read these words, he is settling into his forever home!