The first thing my father asked after surgery was whether the cat had eaten

Dear Delyara, Dad had major surgery yesterday. He is eighty-four, and the risks were frightening enough that we had all said the things families say before difficult procedures while pretending they are not goodbyes. When he finally woke properly in recovery, I leaned close expecting something important. He whispered, “Did someone feed Alfie?” Alfie is his cat. I laughed so suddenly a nurse turned around. We had spent all night worrying whether Dad would wake, whether his brain would be clear, whether his heart would tolerate surgery. Dad woke worrying about a twelve-year-old cat who already had enough food for three days because my sister had panicked and overfilled every bowl. I told him Alfie was fine. Dad closed his eyes again. That was apparently all he needed. I love him for that. I also resent the cat slightly for receiving the first question. Tonight, Dad is stable. Alfie is sleeping on Dad’s cardigan at home. I sent him a photograph. He looked at it for a long time and said, “He misses me.” I think both of them do.