A purr too far

Today was hard. Dogs were good; Roy's gone, but Brooke and Bailey aren't. I walked Gretel, who could go all day on her back having her belly rubbed, and ten minutes later, she was adopted. I walked another poodle (Mr. Nichols) so small that none of the collars fit him, so I put the loop of the leash handle around his neck and led him around on it holding it backwards. He was the size of a shoe.
But the cats, oh, the cats. Not that there's a ton of them like in the summer, but I walked into one room in the back where I think a lot of them get overlooked, and they when they heard me petting one, they all just started mewing and rubbing their bodies up against their cage bars, just itching for a scritch. I just didn't have enough hands. I'd pet two, three if two were together, but have two others batting me on the arm or the head or whatever they could reach.
On an unrelated note, some dude in Massachusetts won the Ig Nobel prize for his invention: prosthetic dog testicles, so that the male dog can still pretend. So I know what we're getting Griffin for Christmas. Only with his I'll put in a rubber squeaker.