Tomorrow it will be four years since I picked Holly up at a service station off the A1. She had been in a council pound for six weeks and her time was well and truly up. If I hadn't said I could take her, there wouldn't have been any options left. Via a complicated chain of people and events, she ended up with me, skinny, wormy and semi-feral. (Er, she was, not me - think I need to do something about that last sentence.)
She still has her semi-feral moments, particularly when she spots a cat, but she's considerably chunkier. On the plus side, she had no expectations about living in a house, so when Herbie told her what to expect ("Oi, that's MY bed"), she went along with it quite amiably. Four years later, she's still here, still stealing tissues to shred, and still the sweetest little weasel-face.