"There are over fifteen thousand patients on the transplant list," Cuddy tells Foreman, who's having none of it: "How many of them are about to bleed to death unless they get a new liver?" "In Jersey, I'd say, uh -- twenty," Cuddy says acidly, before PSAing the stats on how many people die waiting for liver transplants every year. "So we're screwed," Foreman grumbles. Cuddy sighs that she'll see what she can do.
Dad asks the Housewares if he can donate part of his own liver. No go, says Chase; Dad's the wrong blood type. "So we just wait?" "I'm afraid so," Cameron says. "And hope for someone to die," Dad quavers. Thankfully, before any of the Houseguests can puke up a bromide about how that's the nature of the zzzzz, the ghastly apparition of the House of Vicodin Past manifests itself to ask, "Who's Jules?" Cameron, transparently awkward as always, suggests that the HVP go back to his office and take that grayish-green makeup off (that last part may have been silent), but he ignores her, repeating that Jules wasn't in the history. "It was a hallucination," Chase says, as if to a toddler, but HVP persists: "Of what?" "Our cat," Dad finally snips, "does this matter?" Foreman immediately says it doesn't (heh) and takes Dad through the treatment they'll pursue while waiting for a viable donor, and Dad asks how long Larry can wait. "Not long," Chase says. Mmm, sugarcoating. ...Hey, wait a minute! HVP moans and rattles his chains to the effect that he doesn't think it's lupus; Cameron, speaking to him like he's crazy, tries to steer him away, but HVP returns to her fourth diagnostic criterion, saying it's not psychosis, it's "just a kid missing his cat." Chase loudly condescends that Larry thought he was being attacked by something that wasn't in the room: "That's psychosis." But HVP differentiates between psychosis and hallucination, only to have Foreman shoot him down with, "So if he was imagining a fake cat it'd be lupus, but since it's a real cat, it's not? Take your damn pills." HVP begins to elaborate, but Dad impatiently blats that "there's no cat! Jules is dead." HVP mutters about how nobody mentioned that in the history, again, and Cameron complains that family history means people and says, "Let's go." "How did the cat die?" HVP wants to know. Dad wants the Housewives to chase the HVP out of there, and Cameron is still trying, but HVP is a determined haunt: "What happened. To the cat." "Old age," Fishface conveniently chimes in from a neighboring bench, and adds that she was 15 years old (the cat, not Fishface), and Dad is blathering how about how it's irrelevant, but House asks where Jules slept. She slept with Larry. "This is not a cat allergy," Cameron says, sounding close to crying from sheer frustration, but HVP says it's not lupus either: "Where is Jules?"