No wonder the star of Caddyshack was Chevy Chase

I went to bed at 7:30 last night (after four straight nights of post-1am bedtimes), so I was good and rested for the shelter, when CiCi the Unadoptable decided she doesn't like gentle leader leashes to the point that she broke out of hers, and was FREE FREE FREE! to run at 40 miles an hour in thirty-eight directions, across streets, through fields, and finally, on to the driving range of the golf course across the way. When I finally got close enough to her, I remembered the trick my wife taught me, and ran away from CiCi, dodging the golf balls nestled between the 150- and 200-yard signs, with the hope that she would think it was play time, and she ran after me. I offered her a treat with one hand and a hassan chop down on her collar with the other, just as two guys came out on a golf cart saying that we're not allowed to be there. I told him next time I'll just let the loose dog crap on all the greens next time. This was an underappreciated comment, I feel.
So. Anyone care to adopt a tornado with legs?
The good news is Harley got adopted, and I assume Trey did, too, since he's no longer there. I also met big King (only 5 months old, will be huge), and little Terra, and pet a couple dozen kitties in their cages. I need to grow four more hands, since when I'm petting two cats, the other four in the kennel stacks are mostly reaching out and pawing at me all My Turn My Turn.
So despite the CiCi sprints, and wanting to bring 19 cats home, it was a good day. It seems I've always been like this.