Just like last time, Greg and I met at 10 am and drank coffee sitting on the tailgate of his 4WD. Just like last time we collected the furniture (one occasional table and two country kitchen chairs), the clothes, and a few decorative items and packed them into the back of the vehicle. Dad had already begun what was to become a maddening series of questions. What was to become of the cats? What was to become of his bananas? (I kid you not). Most of them were reasonable questions, just repeated unreasonably often. Some others were just plain peculiar. Examples are given below.

We set up dad's room at the village, which took only five minutes, while one of the staff took him on a buggy ride around the complex. We then went to visit mum. Do you know the way? dad kept asking as we walked up the hill. Of course I do, dad. Are we getting closer? Of course we are, dad. If I just answer with monosyllables, dad always wants the answer repeated immediately. Answering as I do means I will only need to repeat myself a few minutes later.

The visit to mum was uneventful, too uneventful. We had been promised a cup of tea at 2:30 pm. I had to get dad to the doctor at 3:30 pm, so the timing was just right. The tea, however, never appeared. We both left feeling rather thirsty, it was a hot cloudless day.

Driving to the doctor's surgery dad kept repeating the last two questions. He also wanted the move explained over and over again. We arrived at the surgery only to be told that the doctor had gone to the house. I reviewed the notification of the appointment that had been left for us - no mention of where it was to have taken place. Of course, this meant that we missed our slot and had to wait to be fitted in later. It was a routine health assessment, much of which was, thankfully, pre-empted by my telling the doctor that dad was moving into the home today, officially on respite, but probably to stay, in the long run.

We agreed that the Aricept was doing nothing and that the Risperidone might as well be dropped now dad is in a new environment and free of his antagonist, the 'uncouth bloke'. The doctor visits the home regularly anyway, and will be seeing dad more often now. He will be able to make an assessment for himself about whether sedative drugs are necessary.

After the appointment dad and I had to return to the empty house for him to sign the funeral forms, which I had forgotten to pick up earlier. Dad did this without any trouble, but then started insisting that he didn't mind visiting 'that place', meaning the retirement village, but that he would not stay there, he was going to live in his own house no matter what. I tried reasoning with him, which was unsuccessful, so I ended up just agreeing.

It was now about 5 pm and we returned to the village anyway, meeting Greg who was still up there, and introduced dad to other members of staff. They sat Greg and dad down and served them dinner. I talked to the manager who openly asked me if dad was going to run away. I told her what he had just been saying, and she said that the staff would make hourly checks on his whereabouts. I bid goodbye to Greg and dad (who didn't respond) and returned to the house.

There I called Rachel to give her a report, and took a call from Greg who said that it had got rough later on. Dad had insisted on being taken home, and Greg had had to ask the staff to let the two of them into his room so that he could have a private heart-to-heart talk with dad.

I tried to nap, to unwind, and recover from a very unnecessary but apparently unavoidable 4 am start to the day. I was unsuccessful there, too. So I packed up the cats' things and then caught the two of them and put them in their travel boxes. I strapped them both into the back seat. Tippi, who usually makes only a soft trilling sound without opening her mouth, cried all way and vomited in her box. Fluffy, who is usually quite vocal and demanding, was dead silent. Right now, Tippi is lying on the floor of my spare bedroom, having emerged from her box and explored my apartment. Fluffy is stubbornly refusing to leave her box, has in fact turned her back on the open door, and growls whenever I go near. I am thinking of cracking open a bottle of wine and trying to forget the day. It has not been as bad as it could be - but came close.