There was a panic button in his bedroom so he could call the security at home if needs be. Every so often he’d activate this device and we’d respond within seconds by bursting into his room only to find him, in bed, with his hand outstretched, greeting you in that distinctive voice, “Yes. How are you?”
After shaking his hand, we’d ask why he’d activated the alarm. Every time he’d apologise and explain that he’d activated it accidentally.
Strangely, after Mam Graça moved in, no panic alarm was set off ever again.