FUO!

No, it's not what you think. (OK, I don't really know what you could possibly be thinking, but it's not THAT.)

It's a Fever of Unidentified Origin. Yunno, I've been watching X-Files reruns lately, and frankly I think today's vet saw the same episode I did. That is to say, he made that shit up. Which just further proves the point that I should be a veterinarian. (Can't I just substitute a semester of making shit up for biochem? Damn that biochem!)

One sleepless night of poking and prodding to make sure she was still alive, two milliliters of antibiotics and two fluid injections later, Her Majesty's FUO has subsided and she is eating again. My plot to get her to eat again involved bringing a handful of food wherever she was laying looking miserable at the time, and putting it right under her nose. She bought into it. So much so, that for a little while I thought that might be my life from there on out. But she finally remembered the food bowl, which holds much more of a bounty than my little hands can carry. Whew.

Anyway, today's vet didn't seem to think it was anything to worry about, so I'm to continue antibiotics for six more days (at 6am and 6pm - yes, that's 6am - woohoo) and all should be fine.

All this was very good news because it meant I got to see a very good play tonight, written by Alan Ball (who scripted American Beauty and Six Feet Under among other things). So you know it was funny and fucked up all at the same time. My favorite kind of story.