How pets gave my dementia-afflicted mother affection, as well as a sense of purpose

An acquaintance once asked, while my mother was alive and living with me, “Have you got her a toy cat yet?”

Reading my expression as one of incomprehension, she elaborated: “You know, a teddy-bear cat, something she can pet?”

A toy cat?

“My mother’s on her fourth,” she said. “She strokes them until their fur falls out. When they’re bald, we just buy her another one.”

I did not appreciate what she was talking about at the time. But as the months went on and dementia claimed more of my mother, I was able to see the potential value of a toy cat.