September 27, 2012

Waiting for Mom to go Senile

Today I got a taste of what my life will be like when Mommy goes senile!

Mom has her office upstairs and off the room is a large walk-in attic filled with all the Junque my pawrents will eventually get rid of, but "not right now." Stuff like complete bed ensembles with matching quilts, skirts, pillow shams, lamp shades and even shower curtains...stuff like treasured books, a zillion half-written manuscripts, Beanie Babies (remember those, most of ours went to children's shelters). Stuff like Christmas decor, Halloween tombstones and giant spiders. Stuff like...a 1960s exercise bike that Dad felt he had to haul all the way from his pawrent's basement in Michigan to Kentucky where we lived, where it sat in the garage unused, and then was moved to Pensacola where it sat unused in the garage for another 6 months until it finally moved to where we live now...and ended up in the attic...still unused.


Anyway! There really is a lot of cool stuff in the attic. But that's not the best part. The best part is the floating floor. Yes! It floats...kinda sorta. Back in 2007 Mom was rearranging the attic for the first of umpteen future garage sales, and had the door open while she worked because in winter the attic is cold enough to hang beef, and in the summer, hot enough to be used as a Purgatory holding bin while waiting for the elevator to Hell. She also had her office doors open, so I walked in, saw the attic door open and joined her. And she thought that was all right...until I scampered to the fringe where the slanting walls met the floor...and disappeared under it.

OMC! There is a whole new world under there! A wonderpurr tangle of beams and cross bars! Well, I had to explore of course, and had a blast roaming all over under there. It would have been most enjoyable except for Mom screaming for Dad to come tear up the floor. Finally I resurfaced. I had to. Mom's voice had reached that pitch where only dogs (and cats apparently) can hear it. Annoying!

I was grabbed, carried like a bag of poop out of the attic and out of Mom's office where everything was then shut up tight. Forever Banished, was the message, loud and clear!

A few weeks later...

I spied wif my little eye...the attic door open. Apparently Mom FORGOT I was asleep in the corner of her office. My first indication that she was headed down Absent-Minded Avenue. So, quick-like-a-bunny, I hopped off my chair and bolted through the door, across the attic...my floofy tail flying like a Wallenda behind me. And just as Mom screamed, "Herman, no!" I disappeared under the floor. And this time, despite the fevered pitch of Mom's voice, I did not reappear.

Despite shouting and swearing and crying for almost 30 minutes, I did not reappear. And Mom got so upset, thinking I had fallen down inside the house walls and was now wedged somewhere between the kitchen and laundry room. With visions of ripping out walls dancing in her head, she found Dad and explained why she needed a crow bar. To which he said, "Look in the other attic. He's probably over there."

Huh? Other attic? (This was me thinking this. I could hear them talking in the kitchen since I was sitting under the attic floor above them.) So, I took that interesting dark path and sure enough! I ended up in the other attic. In fact, I was just getting ready to sniff some interesting old litter boxes and cat blankets stored in there when Mom opened the door and startled me so bad, I actually ran out!

Like I said, this all happened way back in 2007. And I haven't had a chance to get inside that attic again. Until today. Yep, Father Time is marching on and Mom's brain cells are turning plaquey with dementia. She was in that attic working on stuff, and when she left to get some coffee, she invited me inside her office...forgetting the door was open. Of course she remembered real fast when she saw me hot-foot it across the room.

Alas! My adventure was cut short because she moved pretty fast and grabbed me (BY MY FLOOFY TAIL I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW) before I could disappear under the floor. I guess her daily walking is paying off because she wasn't all that fast and agile a few weeks ago.

Anyway, I got me a taste of what it will be like when Mom is old and doddering, drooling on herself, and calling me 'Ray' and calling my dad 'Herman'. I can't wait!

Don't Mess Wif Me!