The mystery of the missing mew

A few weeks ago, I started wondering if Gracie was coming down with something again. About a year and a half ago, I took her to the vet’s on the strength of the fact that she no longer mewed or meowed or chirruped or made much noise at all. Gracie is the most talkative cat I’ve ever had. We have conversations. She mews or meows in answer to all manner of questions and comments. So when her mew became hoarse and cracked, I started thinking she might have something again. But she showed no symptoms until after she got her vaccinations last week. Then, well, she just slept. All day. All night. Barely moving out of her chosen sleeping place. Didn’t come downstairs in the evenings for her regular “Let’s annoy Mom while she’s watching TV” petting time. Didn’t come downstairs to wait for me while preparing the canned food she and Tig get in the morning. Didn’t, in fact, do the things that she always does. So I took her to the vet yesterday. She has a lighter touch of the bronchitis she had last January, but I was right: The missing mew means malady.

She actually started getting better yesterday. I was up at 5:30 due to the fun side of perimenopause (I’m talking to YOU, hot flashes), so I was thrilled to see her out of her cat bed, and happier to see her eat the quarter-can of food I gave each of them. Last night, she came downstairs and slept by my chair while I watched TV. Today, Miss Gracie is in fine form. She’s talking again, following me around, waiting for me on the bathroom vanity to be petted, sitting behind my chair while I work (in the square of sun, naturally) mewing for me to pet her from time to time—yep, I’ve got my old Gracie back. Unfortunately, I have eight more pills to shove down her throat over the next eight days, but at least I’ll know that by then the hoarseness will be gone and Gracie will be her usual chatty self. She won’t be the lump sleeping in the cat bed 23 hours a day. And may I say: Yay.