Me: You didn’t eat your chicken. You seemed to like it, you’ve been eating it most of the time.

Zora: I don’t want it anymore. I want the meat baby food.

Me: I can’t give you just baby food, Zora. You’re too big. I’d need to feed you twenty jars a day.

Zora: All right, I’ll have the London broil, then. 

Me: You know you only get London broil when Brett has leftovers. You can’t have steak all the time, it’s too expensive.

Zora fixes me with the eye.

Zora: Look. We both know I probably won’t live until Christmas. I’m old, and my heart is all fucked up. It’s hot, and it’s humid, and that makes me not want to eat anything but special food. Like baby food.

Me: I know. But I can’t offer you a buffet.

Zora: You figure how to make my food special, and I’ll eat it. I won’t eat it all of the time, because that would make things too easy on you, but maybe some of the time. Enough that I won’t get too skinny.

Me: I’ll see what I can do.

This is a dramatization. The reality is that Zora is starting to get a little senile. She has started to wander a little bit, both mentally and physically. My PotPot is still in there, she just gets a little lost sometimes. That is what she would say to me, though, if she was all there.

Her heart seems stable, none of her symptoms, like the coughing, have worsened much. She seems to feel okay. Getting her to eat is our biggest problem right now. Ground beef, ground turkey, cooked chicken and raw chicken are all out. Pasta is out. Liver is also a no. She will eat some of her mush. She will eat cooked beef pieces with Worcestershire sauce, and meat baby food. So, I have to figure out how to disguise something calorie dense and not too expensive as baby food. Blenderizing raw chicken and mixing it with baby food did not work. Blenderized cooked chicken with baby food is next. If Zora were a little dog, we could just keep her going with baby food until the weather breaks. Unfortunately, Zora is not a little dog, she’s a big, sick, old, picky dog.