Ada

Aunt Ada had been ‘mis-behavin!’ and apparently, swearing her head off! "F#*n this" and "F#*n that!" Making up lies about Jean being in love with my dad! Can you believe? Telling every one, and even crying about it! I guess it didn’t occur to her that Dad lived in Australia, or how mortified it made Jean feel. But that's not the worst thing. She sometimes hits her carers with her walking cane! She hides away her money and refuses to pay for things she needs. She'll give Jean $20 to get a week’s groceries. (Way to uphold a Jewish stereotype). Apparently she's as paranoid as a schizophrenic on space cakes.
Not quite what you’d expect from a 86 year old lady, who has been nothing other than sweet as pie to me. I have heard that the onset of dementia can bring out your inner bitch. Of course, it doesn’t help if you are already a bit of a bitch to begin with.

In a jet-laged haze, I started to understand that despite her good behaviour around me, sooner or later Ada would drive me mad. I’d been warned by others. I settled onto the couch for the night, again feeling grateful for my short legs. Thoughts about finding other accommodation consumed my mind briefly before I fell into a deep sleep. At about 4am I heard a stirring. Ada was shuffling across the floor with her cane towards the kitchen. I kept still hoping she wouldn’t notice me. She looked slightly crazed, then I heard the fridge door open, and rustling and eating sounds for about ten minutes. All of a sudden I realised my food addictions might also be genetic. She closed the fridge door and shuffled quickly back to bed. Miraculously, she didn’t need to use her cane, I wondered if she was a bit like Andy from Little Britain around her carer.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/littlebritain/characters/louandy.shtml

It took another day of confusion before Ada awoke the third day, and seemed back to her old self. She knew who I was, and asked how long I was staying. She was very happy I was there, and we spent the morning trying on her millions of beret’s and scarves, which she would tell me I could have. I would refuse, but she would insist. Then she’d see them on the bed, and she’d get a worried look on her face, and decide to keep them all. I wanted to show her my jewellery, but when I did, she thought it was hers and that I was taking it.
Oh dear.