First it was a somewhat hoarse meow in the dark. Then two large paws started kneading on whatever part of my body they were closest to. Next, the whole 16-pound cat climbed onto my stomach as I lay in the dark, front paws towards my face, paws & claws pumping up and down in a satisfying kneading motion while a low rumbling purr filled the silence. It was just Mr. Romeo’s way of letting me know that it was almost 5 a.m. and the cat dishes were empty and in need of filling.

So I’m awake.

I stopped by after work on Monday to visit my dad at the Oahu Care Facility, a nursing home on Beretania Street where he has been since mid-December.

He was sleeping when I arrived. I gently woke him up. He was surprised, and it took several seconds for him to recognize me and get somewhat oriented.

Good news. He recognized me relatively quickly. “Ian, thank you for coming!”

But he was not happy. “This is crazy,” he said. “I’m supposed to be somewhere for an important meeting, but…I can’t remember. But it’s important. How am I supposed to get there? I keep forgetting that I can’t just walk.”

He looked imploringly at me.

I backpedalled. “No, I think you were supposed to be right here for my visit.” He seemed to accept that version of reality.

Of course, he can walk. It just isn’t safe to let him try to walk alone because he forgets to use his walker, or forgets how to use it, and his balance is so bad that he’s likely to fall. And it was a bad fall that put him in the hospital back in November. It’s the danger of falling, and the additional dangers caused by dementia, that have kept him in a nursing home since then.

I asked about a visit earlier in the day from Wally and Moku Froiseth, old friends from the early days of the Waikiki Surf Club. I had seen their names on the sign-in sheet at the nursing station there on the 3rd floor.

He beamed. It was obviously important that they remembered him and made the effort to get here to visit. He also remembered that Wally is 90 and has had more than his share of health issues as well. It made the visit all the more important.

He complained about not being able to buy them anything during their visit.

“I don’t have a penny on me, and I haven’t for five years!”

We’ve been through the “no money” complaint before. He misses that feeling of his wallet in a pocket. We’ve explained that his expenses are covered, just like in a good hotel. That satisfies, but never for long.

At 5 p.m. his evening meal was delivered. He elects on most afternoons to eat his meal in bed. I’m not sure why, except that it’s probably depressing to eat in the common room with so many ailing oldsters. He ate with vigor, as he has done most days when I’ve visited.

I made small talk while he ate. I tried to describe the scene at the State Capitol during last week’s Taro Festival, when a large group gathered for a mass poi pounding session right there in the Capitol rotunda.

“Oh,” he asked. “You’re still working at the Capitol?”

“Yes,” I replied. “The session doesn’t end for another month.”

“Do you get paid?”

Again, I answered in the affirmative.

He considered what he had heard.

“When was the last time they had people pounding poi in Washington?” he asked.

Sigh. A logical connection from the capitol to Washington, but also an indication of a short circuit along the way.

In a little while, I said my goodbyes and slipped out to wait for Meda and the ride back to Kaaawa.