I adopted a matted black cat named Brian - and I can't believe my 'best friend' is now gone

I scrubbed our house last Saturday at midnight in the pouring rain as if the police were on their way. It took me 20 minutes to grab every water bowl, sachet, every toy and every bit of stray hair and hide them in the shed before I allowed my wife back in with our infant son.

All of it was a futile bid to remove the upset of seeing the most glaring reminders of what our cat's life had been like three hours prior. It did nothing to hide the truth that he was gone.

But 'cat' is a dull word. This is the life of Brian.

Brian the cat lounges at home. Picture: Alastair Stewart | Alastair Stewart

In 2020, my beloved grandmother Eleanor was entering the advancing cycle of her Alzheimer's. One of the worst parts of her illness was not the loss of her independence, but when her cat, Anna, passed.

Every five minutes, she would forget her pet of ten years had died, offer a cup of tea, ask where Anna was, and have to live that heartbreak all over again as she was reminded.

And then a week later, it stopped. Every day, we would check in and visit, and she would tell us that Anna was sleeping on her bed and going out by the time we arrived. As a family, we kept pet food as part of our Tesco order to assuage whatever comfort or routine allowed Granny her functional solace.

As her condition worsened, I installed cameras at her home. To our utter surprise, 'Anna' was a messy, small-dog-sized black cat missing a portion of his lower mouth with a protruding tooth. The rest of his teeth were broken, as was his jaw at some point, leaving him with a slightly crooked grin. His nails were too long and his hair was matted, but you have never seen a creature as grateful to have a warm bed to stretch out on.

Alastair Stewart with his infant son and Brian, relaxing at home. Picture: Alastair Stewart | Alastair Stewart

The first time I saw him, I dubbed him Brian because he looked like one (whatever one looked like?!), and he never stopped coming to Granny's house. This went on for a year until she eventually went into hospital and permanent care. As the house lay increasingly vacant, maintaining the property became an excuse to feed and spend time with a mangled black cat.

When the house was sold months later, a latent question remained. Was he an overindulged neighbour's cat or a stray? I bought a microchip scanner and the chip companies themselves confirmed that his registered phone numbers were expired. There was no response to letters sent to his last address.

By that point, we were bonded. He had shared so much and had been too much of a comfort to us to be left behind. Brian was my best friend. After his chip record was transferred to us, we later learned he was eight, had been neutered late (hence his size), and was, indeed, homeless.

Taking a semi-outdoor cat to a tiny flat was a gamble, but he did it with indescribable nonchalantness. You'd think he had been with us for years. Immediately, he would lie stretched out along my side on any bed, sofa or desk. His wrecked face meant every movie was turned up louder because he snored so loudly; it was the soundtrack of our lives for four years.

I participated in national TV interviews where you could pick up his snoring. He could be found in every couch dip and unmade bed, hanging over it with a single paw and tongue perpetually lolling out because of his damaged mouth. When my wife or I felt stressed, you'd trip over him as he wanted to help, getting into the mix of life's ups and downs. His paw print may as well be on the mortgage forms; he wouldn't leave the coffee table as we signed the paperwork for our first home.

Alastair GJ Stewart and Brian at work. Picture: Alastair Stewart | Alastair Stewart

Brian would head bump so lovingly he had to be kept away from me when I had a wisdom tooth extracted. He had a spectacular ability to stretch out and not give a damn for his safety, and he withstood every cooking smell and every drill sound of an avid Star Trek fan making scale models.

He'd jump up whenever he heard those Trek themes, knowing that snacks awaited him. You have not lived until you have seen a cat daintily eat an egg in a cup with a single paw.

As a family, we invented an entirely new back story, which we told our son in utero. "This was Brian," we'd say. "He's old and retired because …" and invent some crazy adventure about his life before us. He had a Highland accent, hailing from 'Caturmuchty', a place in the Scottish Highlands where all cats lived in warm homes.

Throughout this, every time my grandmother asked where her cat was, we could tell her the truth. In her mind, she knew she was in a lovely care home with attentive staff, but when she demanded to see her cat, it was the video calls of our 'Old Boy' eating cheese, ham and rotisserie chicken that made us all laugh.

A curious Brian ponders an icy pole. Picture: Alastair GJ Stewart | Alastair GJ Stewart

Nothing was funnier than vet teams asking for 'Brian' and little old ladies thinking they meant me when we went in. After these visits, he was like a drunk old man from his medication: good luck keeping a straight face as he would fall face-first into a plate of chicken fried rice.

I can bore you with stats on why pets matter and how they save lives as emotional support animals. Brian wasn't a pet. He was a character who chose a family and lived every moment parked in amongst the love he brought.

His diagnosis of high-grade lymphoma was overnight. He awoke one morning with anisocoria. Tests later revealed it was terminal, and he was expected to make it a week – Brian went a month, in no small part due to the magnificent care of Tim and Corinne and the entire veterinary support team of Inglis Vets.

Even when he was struggling, he was a family cat through and through. He must have been the only cat to seek out a crying baby, and it is a joy to us all that Brian lived to see his fourth generation and that my grandmother passed, knowing her cat was living his best life.

There are no happy or sad memories; there is only the meaning they give. Brian taught loyalty, and if I have one ask today, it's that you please consider adopting an older cat. They bring more than they could ever take.