It's been four months since Bella came home.
She's doing just fine.
Look at that. I mean, really. They were made for each other. One loves to dote, the other loves to be doted on. They take turns.
I'm not saying that she's happy with *everything* that goes on around here.
The cats she could do without.
I know it looks like she's hiding her face in the bag in that picture. She is. Skippy Jane Jones is a cranky kitty.
But on the whole, her life is pretty dang perfect. She has a little girl who thinks she's a princess (which is convenient, since *she* thinks she's a princess' dog), acres to chase voles in and a cocker spaniel who can dispatch of the voles she finds, a momma cat who will sometimes deign to play tag with her, another little girl who loves to rough house with her when she's in the mood, a little boy who loves to cuddle with her when he's in his car seat, a big, gruff man who pets her when he thinks noone is looking, and a woman who is secretly making plans to make her a new bag for Christmas because she not-so-secretly adores her (though that plan is not selfless, as it means that the woman won't have to look at the leopard print bag anymore).
And that, my friends, was the longest sentence I've ever written.