This was quietly powerful. What you described with Big Bit placing her paw in your hand is the human–animal bond doing what it does best: offering co-regulation when words (and even thoughts) feel heavy. In clinic we often talk about “non-pharmacologic interventions” for anxiety, insomnia, and agitation in dementia, but pet touch is one of the most biologically plausible ones: slow, rhythmic tactile input can downshift sympathetic tone, soften hypervigilance, and act as a kind of external anchor when the internal landscape feels foggy.
For families reading: when it’s safe and feasible, simple rituals like brushing, gentle petting, or sitting together with a calm animal can be a meaningful “dose” of comfort. (And as always, worth balancing with practical safety; fall risk, scratches, caregiver bandwidth.)
Thank you for naming something many people feel but rarely validate: sometimes the best medicine is a warm, steady presence that helps the body remember it’s okay!
Your comment moved me to tears - in a beautiful way .Thank you so much. To know that my hunch has clinical proof means so much to me.
The weird part of this is that Big Bit was my parents cat. After my mom died, my dad loved Big Bit more than words can describe. When Dad died, Linda and I took Big Bit.
She and I quickly bonded. I feel that Dad knew I would need Big Bit at some point.
Thank you Dr. Chern. I can't imagine going through this without my cats. Maybe there should be a research project about the benefit cats offer Alzheimer's patients.
I think animals are a big part of a healthy routine. I see my grandmother feel needed and understood by our 3 cats :’)
This was quietly powerful. What you described with Big Bit placing her paw in your hand is the human–animal bond doing what it does best: offering co-regulation when words (and even thoughts) feel heavy. In clinic we often talk about “non-pharmacologic interventions” for anxiety, insomnia, and agitation in dementia, but pet touch is one of the most biologically plausible ones: slow, rhythmic tactile input can downshift sympathetic tone, soften hypervigilance, and act as a kind of external anchor when the internal landscape feels foggy.
For families reading: when it’s safe and feasible, simple rituals like brushing, gentle petting, or sitting together with a calm animal can be a meaningful “dose” of comfort. (And as always, worth balancing with practical safety; fall risk, scratches, caregiver bandwidth.)
Thank you for naming something many people feel but rarely validate: sometimes the best medicine is a warm, steady presence that helps the body remember it’s okay!
Your comment moved me to tears - in a beautiful way .Thank you so much. To know that my hunch has clinical proof means so much to me.
The weird part of this is that Big Bit was my parents cat. After my mom died, my dad loved Big Bit more than words can describe. When Dad died, Linda and I took Big Bit.
She and I quickly bonded. I feel that Dad knew I would need Big Bit at some point.
He was right. I very much need Big Bit.
Thank you.
Reading how much comfort your cats bring you is really moving, I hope that sense of calm stays with you as you navigate Alzheimer’s day by day, Greg!
Thank you Dr. Chern. I can't imagine going through this without my cats. Maybe there should be a research project about the benefit cats offer Alzheimer's patients.
Yup, I think hope it comes up next after dogs. Check out this other guy’s substack!