The weirdest thing happened after that infamous trip to the vet.
My world went silent.
OK, just so you don’t worry, I don’t really mean my world. I didn’t suddenly become deaf or anything. But I no longer made any sound as I moved around. It was eerie. Never before had I realized how much a part of me my sounds are.
It’s the kind of thing you take for granted.
If I shook my head from side to side, I expected to hear the comforting thwap, thwap, thwap of my ears slapping the sides of my head and the harmonious jingle of my tags.
A stroll through the house was accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of my claws against the floors.
It’s nice to hear yourself move through the world. An “I am here!” declaration.
My family is musical. They pound up and down the stairs. Pull doors closed with a resounding bang. Slam the dishwasher with the resulting musical tinkle of glasses jostling against each other. Listen to music and podcasts. We are not a silent, or even a quiet home. Yet, here I was, no longer contributing to the mix.
Only the soft thwapping of my ears remained. No jingle. No clicking.
Now, I am pleased to say, my sounds are back. It did take enduring one more trip to the vet, mercifully short this time.
Once home, my collar was clicked back on my neck.
Just for the sheer joy of hearing my jingle I shake my head at every opportunity. Even my claws have grown back and tap, tap, tap against the floors as I stroll.
My own special melody.