is the cat really drunk?

“Is the cat really drunk?” Dad asks me, looking at the cat lying on the couch. “No, Dad,” I say, trying not to laugh out loud, “she’s just sleeping.”

Another laugh-out-loud moment: I’m telling our friend John that Dad likes to listen to pan flutes. Dad, who’s listening, says, puzzled, “canned fruit?” This gives me a mental image of someone holding a can of fruit up to their ear, and this time I burst out laughing.

The old “couch” – really more of a daybed - is gone. John put the boxspring – so old that it was made of twine and burlap – out on the curb, and disassembled the frame, and loaded the frame into his truck for the trip to Gloucester. There’s now a big empty space in Dad’s apartment until the new sofabed arrives and the cat, who spent at least 20 hours a day lying on the couch, is in a state of confusion. I feel somewhat upset myself. This is the first major change to Dad’s apartment in the 15 or more years since it got remodeled and it feels weird. The old furniture was hopelessly uncomfortable, but I was used to lying there with the cat. I guess disassembling it feels like a foreshadowing of the time when I’ll be packing up this apartment for good.

Noticing Dad sitting at the table with his eyes closed, I ask what he’s doing. “I’m doing absolutely nothing,” he says. This exchange reminds me of when I was a little girl and I’d find him sitting still and ask what he was doing. He would always say, “I’m sitting and thinking,” and I would say “that’s boring,” and wander off.

When I got here today, a little past noon, Dad had just taken out some grapes and yogurt for breakfast, but when he saw me, he said “you can cook something up!” I had nothing planned and there was only one egg, not enough for matzo brei or an omelet, but I found some bread and wound up making cinnamon toast. Dad really liked it – predictable, since he likes anything sweet. John brought him some fig bars, so he’s now well supplied with snacks.

Dad says, “you know, it’s a funny thing, I feel lonely now that that thing is gone.” That makes three of us –him, the cat, and me.