He has reached a point where the toxins of renal failure have begun to occupy his days and his nights. A by-product are deep episodes of hallucination. He sees ants on the floor, stuffed animals coming to life. Most likely, he speculates, these are the animals my daughter once kept in what was her room before we moved him here to live with us. These animations run through the heating register or stand around staring at him goggle-eyed. From the dining room window, he expressed admiration for the marina in our back yard (I wish).
My father is not alarmed by the visions, not the animals anyway; he is mostly bemused and sometimes finds the antics of the five-inch monkey under the bed humorous. If the creature becomes bothersome he waves his cane at it and it slips away until later.
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