I might’ve known that something was amiss when I began waking up in the morning with Buddy the senile cat cuddled up against me. Buddy has never been a cuddler – or much of one for any display of affection – so this turn of events was significant. It was only when other symptoms of dementia began to surface did I put two and two together and get the following equation: perhaps old Bud simply forgets to be standoffish.
It’s not as if I mind. I’m all for a good cuddle with as many cats as want to participate. It just serves as a reminder that things are changing, and not in a good way. Indeed, Bud’s behavior overall is a daily reminder that the old boy is slowly but surely becoming a different cat. Many times, during the course of a day, strange things happen that defy explanation – in much the same way as Alzheimer’s does with humans, I imagine.
Waaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyoooooooowwwwwwww!
“Bud! I’m right here!” My comment seems useless, though, given that he’s going deaf as well.
What’s this then?
“It’s a bathtub, Bud.”
Oh. How long has it been here?
“Eleven years, Bud.”
Hmmmmm.
A few hours later, he’ll wander into my office and start when I pet him; he never seems to look up anymore, and his peripheral vision is useless, too, so anything coming from above startles him.
Prrrrrrrtttttt?
“It’s just me, you old codger.”
Still later, whilst I’m binge watching Ab Fab, there will come the screams of agony. Certain that he’s in the throes of a very painful death, I’ll race to the bedroom –
“Aaaaaaaooooooooowwwww! YOOOWWWWWW! Aeeeeooowww!” –
where I’ll find him not actually dying, but merely standing on my pillow. I wave my arms to get his attention.
What’s this then?
“It’s my pillow, Bud.”
How long has it been here?
“Quite some time, Bud.” That seems to settle him a bit. Until, of course, a few hours later, when the screaming starts again.
Yeeeeooooooowwwww! Owwwww!
“Yes, Bud?”
What’s this then?
“It’s the bed, Bud. You’re standing on the bed.”
Oh.
This goes on all day, every day.
I tend to think that much of the yowling has to do with the probability that, being hard of hearing, he can no longer hear himself. But it’s also clear that things that were once familiar are no longer such. Just imagine you’re in a foreign country – Yorkshire, say – and they’re all speaking a language you can’t understand (although “wazzock” proves useful when I’m arguing with the hubs). On top of that, things look different. Not drastically so, just enough to confuse the hell out of you. You might start screaming, too!
Thankfully, Buddy still knows who I am, and finds my presence reassuring. Indeed, when I enter the room to see what the latest bout of howling is about, he always lets out a relieved prrrrt and runs over to where I am. I pet him for a bit, and then he’s off again on his quest to find something familiar among the strange new surroundings.
What’s this then?
