all but the nose hairs

Despite his memory problems – whoa, I almost wrote my memory problems! – Dad remembers that I’m leaving my job. He told Marie-the-housekeeper I was quitting and, last night, as I was heading out the door for my last shift, he said “Off to the final round-up.” I had an image of myself as a cowgirl, wrangling LGBT youth. Not far off, actually. They don’t like hay, though.

To my surprise, Dad can eat corn on the cob. I made him put his seldom-worn teeth in first. He really liked it and devoured two, plus vegetarian chili with cheddar cheese and saltines and a bowl of salad. The real eating didn’t happen until later, when we got to dessert. I made a tart with chocolate on the bottom and caramel custard on top, thinking of Kate S., our big caramel fan. But Dad went crazy over it, gobbling it from a giant spoon and getting chocolate on beard, mustache, all but the nose hairs. He wound up having three slices, making ecstatic noises the whole time.

While we’re still sitting at the table, Dad asks “Have either of you eaten anything alive?” “You mean, while it’s still alive?” I ask him. And then answer, “No, that would be gross, Dad.” “I think it would be interesting,” he says. He proceeds to imitate himself eating something alive, pantomiming shoving something in his mouth and making distressed-animal sounds “eek, yikes, yow, ‘lemme out of here!!’” Kate S and I laugh hysterically. “You’re silly, Dad,” I tell him.

Dad says: “I can’t stand for more than 5 minutes. Well, maybe 15 minutes. Then it’s AAAARRRGGGGGHHHHH!”

“I’m gonna shut up,” Dad says. “But Dad, you’re funnier when you talk,” I tell him. “I’ll say unwanted things pretty soon.”

Madame says Dad drinks all the time (not booze but tea, lemonade, juice, you name it). It’s not clear whether he’s actually thirsty or just forgets that he’s already had plenty to drink. Kate S. says he might be bored. I can’t help thinking that excessive thirst is a symptom of diabetes – that’s how you tell when a cat develops diabetes.

“Kate has 15 cats,” Dad says. “14,” we correct him. “Well, my goodness,” he says, “14 instead of 15, well, well, well.”