And after weeks of lucidity and coherence, warm companionship and good conversations, suddenly he's back to being a demented little old man. He often doesn't know what day it is; he often doesn't even know what week it is. I tell him things a number of times, because he forgets almost at once and asks about whatever-it-is as if I had not said a word.
Yesterday I noticed an awful smell in the laundry. The cats' kitty litter trays, I naturally thought. But no, they were clean. I opened the door of the big cupboard where we keep our cleaning equipment, and there on top of the container of Gumption was a scoop full of cat poo. Heaven knows how many hours it had been sitting there! We had a visitor at the time; I disposed of it quickly and discreetly.
Today I found an open tin of cat food sitting on the laundry trough, after he had told me there was no food for the animals and I'd dashed out to the shops to get some. He wouldn't have been demanding on purpose; he just doesn't have much idea any more.