“Do we have enough kibble? Don’t forget to get some kibble.” This from Dad as we were walking through the grocery store. In time, Mow, as he came to be known because of his loud distinctive cry, became Dad’s constant companion. Mow was pronounced the same as Mao Tse Tung; I found out much later that the word mau in Egyptian means cat or seer, both definitions being pretty appropriate. Dad went from pushing him away with his foot to cuddling him at every opportunity. Every morning I found Mow sitting on Dad’s lap at breakfast, sniffing the plate, making sure that Dad wasn’t keeping all the good bacon to himself. He had a passion for melon, and would climb us like a tree if he saw us holding a piece. Mow followed Dad everywhere: sitting on Dad’s lap in the sun; listening to classical music cranked on the stereo with apparent enjoyment.
. I considered Mow an angel sent to us, one last cat to keep Dad company. I realized just how far Dad had come as we were taking a walk one afternoon and he was trying to tell me something.
“It happened there, this thing I was telling you about,” he said, struggling to bring to mind the words he wanted.
“Where was it, exactly?” I asked, trying to pinpoint if he was talking about the house or the new facility he was living in.
“You know, that place. That place where Mow lives!” he said.
Oh yeah, that place.