The Direction of Age

It seems that I have written a great deal lately about Neville’s aging. I think it comes from keeping an eye on him and his health a little more than I do on the others. Thus, I see the changes that come rather more often to an old animal than would to a middle-aged one, who has settled into a routine arrangement with his body.

Every morning, Neville walks his slow way down the corridor to the cat-room, which I open up as I prepare everyone’s breakfasts. There, Nev eats from Millie’s hard-food bowl. She has a different kind of food than others do; she’s used to it and, while the supply that came with her lasts, she will receive that. The Nevsky seems to like it.

But many days, he stops at the bedroom, the door of which comes first to anyone walking down the corridor. He sometimes comes in and wonders where the food-bowl is. I have to re-direct him to the cat-room.

This is a slight confusion, but one nobody else suffers. Neville’s mind is still strong, I believe, but I think he can become confused if he thinks of other things than the task at hand. He handles every other chore and desire well, but I see a bit of fog creeping in at the corners of his mind. Even so, to paraphrase what I once read, dementia isn’t forgetting where the food is, it’s forgetting what it is. The delight my old lion expresses when he sees his soft-food bowl being carried to him every meal shows that he’s a ways from that stage yet.