The last two days at work are best described as "bloody busy", interviewing for 3 vacant positions, with an associated procession of some 14 bodies. That's a lot of bodies. I've barely seen the boys but thank dawg Sid and Knickers have been feeding and generally ministering to their requirements. It's a complete arse being the only bugger getting up in the morning though while everyone else is loitering with student-like indolence or hacking away feverishly on a keyboard at home while I drag my weary, knackered carcass into town and back every sodding day. WHY is our institution so utterly backwards about flexible working?
I finally called Cats Protection today about neutering vouchers for Jim and Little Miss, and while I was at it I rang Rolvenden Cat Rescue to enquire about the two of Binky's daughters that they took to rehome - only to find that they are still there :( Bugger, I wasn't expecting that. The good news is they have been spayed and are in the house, but the guilt trip is just awful even though we've acquired 4 cats ourselves out of it with Binky, Ted, Jim and Little Miss. At one point they were housing **84** cats. 84! And I thought our feed bill was intense. The mind boggles about what would happen to all those cats if it weren't for these dedicated people. It makes me so sad. If I won the lottery I'd probably go wholesale into a large rescue place, and even that would merely be a drop in the ocean. It's no good having these thoughts; it's too big and hoary a problem to contemplate at an individual level other than doing what we can for the creatures we have, and supporting favoured charities. Sigh.
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