The British One took me to the not-quite-evil hippie vet, whom I have now decided IS evil. At least a little bit.
He did things to my bum that I cannot discuss in polite company. I yowled and growled and put up a struggle, but he got what he was after in the end (no pun intended).
I also got shots of fluid and had blood drawn, and it seems that my irritable bowel syndrome may be back with a vengence. Dr. M said I have too many white blood cells in my poo, but he is running some more tests to be sure IBS is what is causing my grief. He has prescribed another bout of Metronidazole to be squirted down my throat every day for a week, which is another reason he is evil.
He wanted to keep me overnight, hooked up to an IV because I am somewhat dehydrated, but happily the British One rang Softie and they decided to bring me home, but unfortunately it also means I have to go back to see Dr. M again on Wednesday. If I am not any better, I might have to spend the night. I really really hope I am better by Wednesday, because I do not want to stay away from my humans. They need a lot of guidance, afterall, and I cannot imagine what they would do if I was not there to supervise them.
The weather has turned chilly and stormy, and I was extra glad to be at home in bed with my humans (sleeping between Softie's knees) because I do not like loud booms and bright flashes of light in the night, and last night there was an over-abundance of booms and flashes. All three of us were awakened many times, and I decided that it might be better for me to sleep right between my humans, because I don't think they like the booms and flashes either. I think they needed comforting.
I know I did.
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