My mom, not being able to remember my phone number (a predicted first), and receiving no answer from my daughter’s cellphone (written down on a post-it), called my mother-in-law this evening. My MIL called to let me know mom was sure that Elvis the cat was dying, and needed immediate medical attention.
While talking wth my MIL, I penned my husband a note instructing him to text my daughter to call my mom. The bottom line is Elvis, according to mom, is now eating, but needs to find another home immediately because mom will be returning to her Island home within a week. Mom said she’d let my daughter know before she left…
The hope we had for a pet to add construct and purpose to mom’s routine is fading fast. The plan is for me to call mom tomorrow, and my daughter to call on Friday, to check in on the Elvis project, and offer encouragement. We’ll check with staff as well.
While our notions about this pairing were not without doubt, I am left kinda devastated at how shallow mom’s reception has been. Mom has been a cat person all of my life. I foolishly expected, medical studies and all, that she’d instantly gravitate towards caring for a cat, for anything. Dementia has taken that away from her. So far, all Elvis has caused her is anxiety.