This is the Second Installment of Belle., I had it as Chapter 2, but the computer keeps insisting it's chapter 1

Chapter 2

New Things

Mrs. Fleabrain drove up to a long, brick den with a big front yard. Darcy undid her seat belt. “So long, Auntie Ellen. Be sure and call us if you need help with the dog. Thanks for bringin’ me home.” She smiled at me. “’Bye-bye, Pooch. Good luck.”
Pooch? Not mutt? How come? With a guarded look, I watched her get out of the car. Darcy bounded across the lawn. Good. I survived the kid. ‘Course she didn’t make that hard, but now what? Dog, cat, and a man who didn’t want me? Letting out a long sigh, I put my head on my paws.
Mrs. Fleabrain pulled into the street. After a couple of turns, she stopped in a driveway shaded by an elm. A human den of white stone stood beside it. Carrying me to a back entrance, she walked into a burrow containing a huge water bowl. It smelled
like the sweet sneeze-powder humans put on their outer fur to wash
it. The stench of the dog and cat wafted from blankets in a corner. Gagging, I whimpered.
”Good dog,” Mrs. Fleabrain crooned. Setting me on the floor, she walked through a big hole in the den wall and disappeared somewhere into a den that smelled like people food.
Tail between my legs, I glanced around.
Now what? Were the animals I smelled the Misty and Painter Darcy talked about? What if they came in and saw me? How could I escape if they weren’t friendly? Flinging myself at the door I’d just come through with Mrs. Fleabrain might work. There didn’t seem to be any other way to the outside of this burrow. Was I strong enough to knock the door open? I gathered my legs to take a leap at it.
Mrs. Fleabrain returned smelling of dog chow. Dropping to my haunches, I hoped I looked like I’d sat quietly waiting for her. It wouldn’t do to reveal my escape pans. She might tie me up.
I guess my pose worked. With a smile, she put two bowls down, one with crunchy bits like Bonehead and Big Toby gave Mama, and one with clean water, not the muddy gunk I usually lapped from puddles. My tummy rumbled. Wow, last time I ate was yesterday--stinky meat from Bonehead’s garbage. Lunging, I grabbed a mouthful of food.
Then, I remembered something Mama said when Bonehead tossed scraps into the yard. “Nibble. People will like you better. They’ll be less apt to hit you.”

Taking a smaller amount, I chewed. The bits melted on my tongue. Mmmmmmmm. I took a long time swallowing.
“That’s right. Be gentle,” Mrs. Fleabrain rubbed my neck. “You’ll get calmer when you feel safe.” She smiled with her blue eyes, as if she really cared for me. “I hope you’ll be a nice addition to our family. A good pet.”
In mid-chew, I lifted my nose from the bowl and stared at her. Pet? No way! I was out of here as soon as I could go. I would not wear a collar and tag, and come when people called, like that snippy Poodle, Cheri, who lived on the farm next to Bonehead. She walked with her nose so high, I thought she’d trip on her paws. I’d be a workin’ dog. Take care of myself. Poof! No more worries ‘bout snot-nosed kids, nasty men, or angry animals who were here first. No way would Mrs. Fleabrain make me a pet. I turned back to my food with a snort.
As I licked up the last crumb, I heard running water. Before I could think, she scooped me into her arms and plopped me into the big bowl. Warm wetness weighed down my fur.
Holy fleas! This must be one of those baths that Cheri always got. On top of everything else that happened today, I had to get wet. Shutting my eyes, I hung my head.
She laughed and picked up a bottle of sneeze-stuff. “Oh, such a woe-is-me expression. Come on. A bath isn’t that bad.”
The sneeze-stuff bubbled and stung my eyes. Water lapped into my nose. “Pffffnnnt.” I blew it out.
“Hold still, silly.” She wiped the sneeze stuff off my face, then rubbed, and rinsed me, running her hand through my coat. I stiffened at her touch, ready to snap, if she hurt me.
“You can’t be more than a year old,” she sighed. “What a miserable life you’ve had. No wonder you’re a little mean. But now it will get better, I hope.” Wrapping me in a towel, she set me on the floor again.
I stood dripping, and let her dry my back. It did feel nice to be clean, and my bruises ached less. I caught myself sighing in relief. Then I spotted my reflection in the side of the water bowl. Wow! I looked pretty good. My black nose and pointed ears set off my face and large eyes. My gold fur was half-pretty. My feet were clean and white.
“I’m going to call you ‘Belle,’” Mrs. Fleabrain crooned. It’s French for pretty. Good dog. Good Belle.”
I cocked my head. What was ‘Belle?’ She finished drying me. “There, Belle, my sweet pet.” My ears drooped. ‘Belle.’ ‘Pet.’ They must go together. Yuck.
A noise interrupted the thought. Something round bounced into the room. Then, woah! The biggest cat I ever saw stood eye-to-eye with me, a girl from the spicy, musky smell of her. A bell jingled on her red collar. Fluffy fur made her look like a white lion.
“Meow.” She showed sharp teeth.
Her sudden appearance made me jump. If she were like Bonehead’s barn cats, she’d fight to kill. I curled my lips. “Grrrrrrrr.”
She skittered back, landing on tiptoe. Mrs. Fleabrain stroked me. “Good, dog, Belle. It’s okay.”
Her hand on my shoulders made me feel like I couldn’t move if that fool cat attacked me. I stepped away from Mrs. Fleabrain. She let me go, but sat ready to grab me again, if I lunged at the cat. It figured. I couldn’t expect any rank in this pack. Another good reason to blow this joint.
Recovering her balance, the cat settled on all fours. “Take it easy, little girl. I don’t have front claws. I won’t fight. I’m used to dogs.”
I raised my ears. No front claws? That was a new one.
“I’m not fooling you.” The cat patted me.
Cringing, I expected a scratch, but her touch felt as soft as spring grass. I gasped. “What happened to you?”
“Jim, the other human living here, got the claws cut out of me.” She swished her tail.
“Had your claws cut out?” I gasped. “How?”
“He took me to the animal doctor. So now I bite when I have to.”
I didn’t blame her for biting. Even a cat had a right to self-defense. Who was this Jim guy? The one Darcy called Uncle Jim? The one who might not want to keep me? I didn’t think I
wanted to know. But until I could skedaddle, I better keep peace with this beast. A cat was still a cat, and you never could trust them.
“Okay, Puss. You don’t hurt me, I won’t hurt you.”
Her tail swished harder. “I’m Misty, thank you, not Puss. Remember that, and you got a deal. You’re Belle, yeah?”
Okay, this was the ‘Misty’ Darcy mentioned. Swallowing, I sniffed her. Her odor matched the smell on Ellen’s scarf.
“Humans call me mutt.”
Lifting large, pea-green eyes, Misty looked at Mrs. Fleabrain.
“She just called you Belle. So that’s your name, okay?”
I thought it over. “Okay. Guess it’s better than mutt.” Could people really be kind? Mrs. Fleabrain certainly seemed to be. She gave me good food and clean water. She was careful with me in the bath. My eyes hardly stung, once she wiped my face. Now, she gave me a nice name, even if it felt a little strange I glanced at Misty.
“What’s this human called?”
“Ellen. I call her Sweet Mama.”
Not me. Mrs. Fleabrain didn’t quite fit anymore, even with this cat. But Sweet Mama was too friendly. I looked at the thing Misty had bounced into the room. “What’s that?”
“A ball. Play with me.”
“Play?” I shivered, thinking of the box that turned Big Toby’s smell peppery-angry.
“Sure. Bounce the ball around,” said Misty. “It’s a game.”
Dog heaven spare me. I glowered at her, then at a tag on her
collar. “That sounds like pet stuff. I don’t play with pets. Are you Ellen’s pet?”
“Sure. Aren’t you someone’s pet?“ She gave me a puzzled look. ”Doesn’t some human wait hand-and-foot on you?”
“No! I weouldn’t let ‘em.”
Misty rested a foot on the ball.“Too bad. When you’re a pet, humans love you. Animals love you. If you want, you love them back.”
“Not all humans love.”
“Dogs aren’t always the nicest either,” retorted Misty.
She had a point. I'd snapped at kittens around Bonehead's barn.
“Sweet Mama’s nice,” Misty continued. “Jim’s the one who’s strict.” She flipped the ball in the air.
Jim again. Did her words have a trace of a hiss as she mentioned him?
“Is he the one Darcy calls Uncle Jim, Misty?”
“Uh-huh.” Misty pushed the ball with her paws. “How’d you meet Darcy?”
My toes tingled at the thought of an animal doctor cutting out Misty’s claws.
“Is he mean?”
“If he’s mad.” She flung the ball at me. “I ignore him, ‘cuz the only reason he lets me live here is Sweet Mama loves me. But he likes dogs. You don’t have to worry. Let’s play catch.”
I hopped backwards. “No. If I catch more balls than you do, you’ll bite me.”

“What?” Misty gaped. “Why would I bite you? I don’t care how many balls you catch. It’s fun just to pounce on them.”
I cocked my head.“I don’t believe you don’t care. Games always end with everybody mad, especially the losers.”
“That’s not true .” Misty’s tail twitched. “Come on. Stop arguing and try it. I wanna have some fun.”
Typical cat, demanding her own way, no matter how I felt, or what I wanted.“Go around the neighborhood and find someone to play with.”
She looked at her paws. “How can I?”
I had to feel a little sorry for her. Must be tough to live with mained toes--not to mention the guy who gave them to you. “Okay.” I poked the ball toward her.“But you bite me, and I’ll bite you back.”
“I won’t bite.” She caught the ball and flung it at me. “Catch again.”
If it made her happy. We batted the ball. What a silly game.
Misty missed my next shot.
I held my breath. Now she’d yowl, scream, and hiss.
With quick but gentle paws, she pushed the ball back toward me. Only the tag clanked on her collar. Could I believe it? She wasn’t spitting mad?
The ball thumped a chair, then flew up, landing in the water bowl. “Hey,” Ellen yelled from near the back door.
I knew it. Somebody had to get mad during a game. Cringing, I

waited for Ellen’s peppery smell. It came faintly. Then I realized she was looking into the yard, and not at me or Misty.
Misty laughed. “Sweet Mama’s not mad at us. I bounce balls of that chair all the time. Painter’s digging holes in the flowers in her yard. She hates it. And Jim gets furious.”
Painter. The other animal Darcy spoke of. Oh-oh, forget games. I needed to learn what he was like, if I wanted to survive.
I walked to the door. Ellen swung it open. At the end of the yard, a white mutt with orange, gray, yellow, and brown spots, scratched at plants. I sniffed. He was the healthy dog I’d smelled
on Ellen. He had the curly coat and earthy odor of a terrier. He had a happy scent, too, like there wasn’t a sharp claw on his foot, or snarl in his mouth.
“Painter! No!” Ellen clapped her hands. “Stop tearing up my daisies.”
He looked bigger than me, but I could herd him out of the flower bed. It was the least I could do, since Ellen helped me today. It just might save his bacon from Jim. Jim probably walloped dogs. Besides, if somebody needing a cow dog happened by, I might land myself a job. Bounding out the door, I leapt onto the grass. Woof.”
Painter glanced up, one paw still in a hole. “Who are you?” Shaggy whiskers bristled around his mouth.
“My name’s Belle-- I guess.” Nice as the name was, it sure
felt odd not to be mutt anymore. “Why are you digging up those plants?”
“Nothin’ else to do.” He stuck his square nose into the dirt. “Ellen won’t come out and play with me.”
Didn’t pets ever think of anything but playing? They sure wouldn’t if they knew what I knew about it. I circled to make him move. “Ellen doesn’t like what you’re doin’.”
“Aw, but it’s lots of fun.” He cocked his head and let his tongue loll.
Dork! Pushing against him with my nose, I pointed him away
from the plants. “Get out of her garden, you spoiled pet. You don’t know how good you got it.”
He yelped, lowering his stubby tail, and jumped onto the grass. “Cut it out. You’re lucky I’m good-natured, or I’d bite your ear off.”
Planting myself between him and the garden, I let my nostrils grow wide as I smelled him. Exasperation gave his aroma a peppery
tinge, but he wasn’t mad. Most of his odor carried the sourness of guilt. “You wouldn’t hurt me. You’re doing wrong, and you know it.”
Dropping his ears, he looked embarrassed. “Yeah, I do. But you still took a chance.”
Ellen ran up and grabbed Painter.
“Bad boy. You’re going in your pen.” She glanced at a fenced place in the yard. Then she looked at me. I cowered, expecting to catch the rest of her fury.
Her voice changed. “Good girl, Belle. You saved my flowers.” She marched Painter away.
I stared after her. Well, holy bones! She was thrilled with what I’d done. I’d gotten my herding job. If I could keep Painter from digging, I could live in the yard, not be a pet, never play, and avoid Jim.
Then again, she was about to punish Painter. Maybe Jim had taught her to be strict, too. I better see how nasty Ellen got, before I considered hanging around. With a sigh, I looked toward
the pen. Painter and Ellen had reached it. Painter’s tail hung very low. Ellen smelled mad. Fear for Painter’s safety sent a quiver through my stomach.