Far From Home

The week before we began substantial renovations on our house, my husband, Jeff, and I moved in with my dad. Our big orange cat Zipper had been rather nonchalant about the packing, but when Jeff picked him up and walked with him out the front door, Zipper finally reacted.

I watched his eyes grow wide with fear as we brought him the short distance to my dad’s house. Once there, we gently placed him on the front porch.

“Look, Zipper,” I said, thinking words could ease his panic, “we set up your bed and food dish in the shed.”

The next morning, I discovered that Zipper had crawled into the most hidden corner of the shed, no small feat for a big cat. He stared at me forlornly, judging me for my cruelty in removing him from his only home. Watching Zipper reminded me of how difficult emotionally it had been to move my mom to a memory care facility. Because of her Alzheimer’s, we couldn’t prepare her in advance. I imagined her as panicked as Zipper, and it tore at my heart.

With a little bit of coaxing and care, Zipper eventually settled in to his new home. As for Mom, now that she’s settled in too, I try to bring as much laughter and sunshine as I can to our moments together. It is a small compensation for not being able to bring her home.