Sunday, a day for Mishka.

I’m woken up at 5:30 am by the call of “Mishka, Mishka!” Grandma is looking for the cat. She rouses me, and sends me in front to test the cry of “Mishka, come home!” The cat, of course, ignores this and does as he pleases, even if he is around, which he usually isn’t. Grandma tells me to try out back, and when I tell her that it didn’t work, she apologizes for waking me up and heads off to bed. I go back to my couch and crash again.
Some hours later, I’m woken up once again by a family member; this time, it’s Mars, sneaking out of the house and heading for the bar. Grandma is in bed still, and I go to turn on the coffee. The machine is already on; but it didn’t make coffee. It looks like Mars ran water through the machine without replacing the grounds, so the result looks like tea but doesn’t take nearly as good. I re-do his substandard work. As much as I would like think that it was grandma’s being absent minded, she hasn’t woken up yet, so he must have done it. I rouse grandma and we have breakfast.
She’s still doesn’t remember my name all the time. I decide to work on it, by quizzing her throughout the day.
Mars shows up at 2:30 with wonton soup for grandma. He heads off to his room. At 3:15, he comes back out to the living room where grandma and I are sitting with Mishka. He tells me that he needs to pay me for the work I’m doing – he says that $200 even is what he thinks he owes—and follows it with a gentle suggestion that I should get paid and leave. I ask him if we can do the ceremony for Dad – the fishing boat, to distribute his ashes—while I’m down here. He glares and asks how long I’m staying. What I should have said is that I’m staying till the situation down here is up to my standards, but I don’t, instead blurting out that I’m staying a while. Grandma helpfully points out that school will be starting in September, and I say I won’t be there that long.
Before I can follow this up, they get in a fight over the fence that grandma wants to put up in the back yard. This is one of the common tropes in grandma’s delusional ranting – she thinks that there are neighborhood kids that are coming down the hill in the back yard and that we need a fence to keep them out. Once she reaches this point, she has a really strong grasp on what we need to do – measure the back, check at city hall about what types of fences are allowed. And she knows when it’s too late to go to store tonight to get the materials.
Anyways, Mars gets frustrated after a few minutes of trying to tell grandma that we don’t need a fence, in Latvian. He stalks off angry and frustrated while grandma is calm, but a bit confused. I quiz grandma about my name. I break down and tell her after she starts guessing.

Since Anna didn’t make it over, I decide to take her back some of the Tupperware that she left to dry in the rack. There’s always some over here, from the lunch she brings for grandma. There’s not actually any good reason for me to take it back right now, but it sure is a handy excuse to go visit. Her daughter, Annie, is over, and she’s just as sweet. Two hours go by before I head home. We talk about a lot of things, and exchange stories about grandma.

I catch grandma in bathroom, taking out her dentures. Grandma heads to bed and I kiss her goodnight. I ask her what my name is. She looks stumped, and mumbles a little bit, deep in thought. Thirty seconds later, she blurts out "KRISTOPHER!"

I don't think I've ever been happier in my life.

Shortly after, Mars heads outside, saying he’ll be back soon. I assume he’s off to the bar. I waste some time playing some solitare and working on my writing. I’m on the front porch trying to get a post up on the blog when Mars gets back. It’s after midnight.
He’s toasted, and holding a bottle of whiskey in a paper sack.
“Hi, Mars. How’s it going.”
He plops down in Grandma’s wheelchair, right across from me.
He slurs, “Mmm, wha are you doin a tha computer?”
“Writing.”
“Mmm. Hwws grama?”
“Eh? Oh, grandma is fine. She’s in bed.”
He’s wearing his CPO Club ballcap, and he tilts his head so his eyes just line up under the brim. I think he means it to be an intimidating glare. It mostly works, especially when he grins. It’s not a friendly grin when he points it at me; it’s the one that shows teeth. Like a cat raising the hair on his back or a puffer fish blowing up its spines. Stay back. This is my territory.
“Wha are you doin here?”
“I’m here because my brothers and I are concerned. To make sure that you and grandma are okay, to make sure that Dad’s stuff get taken care of.”
He frowns, “Yah, wha are you doin here?”, he repeats.
Shifting the subject, I say “What about taking care of Dad’s ashes? The fishing trip?”
“Whell, I sen da one halv to Latvia, just like the will said” he spat back, turning to his side. He picks up a box, about 7 inches square. Dad’s remains. He hands then to me. We talk about the remains, and he says that we need to contact Mark. He’s the one that’s supposed to be in charge of the event. I agree, and say we should call in the morning.
“Whell, ahl pay fer you, and mahself, buh ahl ask evrywon ahls to chip ihn 50 bucks….”
“That’s not what the will says.”
He glares. Puffer fish. Puff.
“You want me to go get my copy and read it for you?”
“YEAH.”
I grab it from the car and sit down again. He’s still in glare mode.
“I hereby desire and direct that … my ashes be distributed into the waters of the gulf stream current on a big game fishing charter… I desire and direct that Mark Jones arrange and supervise the distribution… uhm, there’s the list of people to be invited, starting with you, Ilmars….”
I flip the page.
“I hereby desire and direct that the sum of Two Thousand Five Hundred dollars be set aside for the distribution of my ashes and be given to whosoever incurs the expense of chartering the vessel for the distribution of my ashes.”
“I ahlredy pah for da cremashun, wha hav you pahd?”
“Mars, you’re getting off the subject.”
He glowers, and explains that he doesn’t have access to Dad’s money. That he needs to cancel Dad’s social security. That he gave Gus the portfolio with all the information about the accounts. Or was it Jason? OR WAS IT ME?
“You’re getting off the subject again. I know the family has money from the house on Richmond.”
“AH” he cries, “AHR YOU AFTA DA MONEY?”
I shake my head. He is back on the attack. He attacks well, driving at anything he sees as a potential weakness. “Mars, I’m here to make sure that things are taken care of. My brothers and I are concerned about grandma, and you.”
He starts talking about the money he owes me, repaying me for the lawn work and getting the A/C running. Two hundred dollars.
“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you, and grandma.” To be honest, I’m much more worried about grandma. She needs care, and her family is responsible. We’re responsible. She can’t do it herself. Mars needs help too, but he still is capable of getting it for himself. And he’s the only one that can start the push to fix his alcoholism.
He glares, and attacks. “Wha hav you dohn?”

“Well, for starters, I made her breakfast this morning.”

“Ah bra home dinnah!”
“So, we’re even. Alright.” We’re not, actually. He’s supposed to be responsible for all of grandma’s meals, not just some of them.
“WE AH NOT EVEN!” he yells back.
Puffer fish. Puff.
“I also got her fresh clothes yesterday.” Okay, that was with Anna’s help, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. “When’s the last time she’s had a bath?” is the second. I shouldn’t be pointing out his errors, belittling him. But his yelling is getting to me.
“Ahhh, Joy cahms and bathes hur, she dahs…”
“When was the last time she was here?”
“Uhh.. uhhh… las week….”
I growl back, angrily, “You’re lying!”
“FUCK YOU!” he howls back.
“OUT. OUT. LEAVE.”
I stand my ground. He glares. He yells some more. I quickly go through the scenarios. He can’t call the police; I have just as much right to be here as he does. He can’t successfully batter me. I weigh twice as much, he’s drunk and weak. I stare back.
Puff puff.
He carries on, saying he’s going to cut that check so that I can get the hell out. I sit quietly, and after a few minutes of bravado, he peters out.
“You should go to bed. We should talk about this in the morning.”
“Hmmm. Ghood ideaa.” He sounds reasonable, checks himself, and then fits in a glare just for good measure.
I get up and go sit on my couch, the one I’ve been sleeping on, right next to where Mishka is lounging. I pull out my laptop, thinking to calm down. Mars comes in, and sits on the other side of Mishka.
“Hmmm, wha are you doin on the laptop?”
“Playing a little solitaire, to calm down.”
He growls, “I shoul knock it outta yer hands…. ”. Puff.
I ignore him, and he threatens to destroy my laptop again. In the meantime, he’s started petting the cat, and is mellowing out. Mishka purrs and stretches. I feel like I’ve got an ally. Mars stops frowning. I say that the cat is a sweetie. He nods, matter of factly, anger seeping out.
“You should go to bed. We should talk about this in the morning.”
He nods, and stumbles off. I start to think that Mishka is the best cat ever. I reach over to pet the cat, and notice a wet spot where Mars was sitting. He drunkenly pissed on my couch. I start to think that maybe I didn’t win this exchange.