It occurs to me I should possibly explain that I may be a bit of a kitty-hypochondriac.
Here's why: for the majority of her life, Xiombarg had a companion, name of Morphia. Actually, I got Morphia first and Xiombarg second, but you know how that goes - each cat sees itself as the center of the universe.
Morphia was a tabby, and possessed with all the boundless energy and personality quirks thereof - Xiombarg came into our lives as a companion for her in part so she would have something/someone to play with at night besides my feet or arms under the covers, so that I could possibly get some sleep on occasion...
As you can probably guess, the story ends somewhat tragically. She died from feline leukemia in October 1999. To me, it seemed very sudden - but it was right after I had moved from one apartment to another so I wonder sometimes if I wasn't distracted. She seemed a little listless, then didn't seem to be eating (or drinking, really) so I took her to the vet - they took some blood for tests, gave her some subcutaneous hydration and gave me some bland food for her, thinking it was probably a stomach upset of some kind, and said they'd call with the test results.
She died before they were back, early Monday morning. She was doing poorly enough on Sunday that I was going to take her in when the vet opened Monday morning, but I'm pretty sure she died at the apartment before I'd even called the cab. She was definitely DOA when I got to the vet. They phoned the lab and got the test results at that point.
Xiombarg, amazingly enough, tested negative when I took her in for follow-up. But Morphia's decline was so rapid and sudden to me that I'm a little nervous regarding behavioral changes and eating habits, I guess.
Now, Xiombarg at the moment is far from listless, and she is eating. She's definitely drinking, which is even more of a critical indicator. So I should probably be quieter about my worries or worry less, and vary her diet more - just because I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every day for eight years doesn't mean she prefers the equivalent.
She's probably just exercising her right as an 11 year old feline to be finicky. But there's that little bit of doubt that makes me rattle on about my concerns.