Like shooting fish... In an ocean, with spitballs, that is.

When i brought Rhett home yesterday, he was so happy (or something)
that he threw up. He seems ok now, though. I phoned the vet, and he
told his tech to tell me that he would bet that it was nerves, and it
appears he was correct. Poor Rhett! At least he is better now, and
that is what important. I have to figure out if i am going to board
him or what when i am travelling next month.

I am currently organising my volunteers for this Saturday's feral
trapping thing, and it is like, well, herding cats. Most of the five
people either have never done this before, or don't have anywhere to
store any cats, meaning that i have to store them. Bear in mind that i
have NO idea what i am doing. None. No idea how to organise this at
ALL. So i phoned Chrissy and worked out a trade of sorts -- she will
help me organise and tell me what to do and all, and i will take as
many of her speuters as i can and let her stick them in with mine and
say they were trapped at Eviljob, so Chrissy can get them done for
free (this program is supposed to be for people who cannot get rescue
discounts, and so forth; people who are not 'professionals', which i
think is a total load of shit, but i do understand how they don't want
people say, accepting donations because they are a non-profit group
and then getting the speuters free). I understand this group's
intention in their restrictions, but i have my own reasons, plus
Chrissy needs the help. And deserves it, after all she has done to
help me. Ok... I have to get some sleep. Or try to.