I love my barn cat, Mother, but I know that cats elude me.  I get dogs and donkeys, even chickens, but cats exist in their own mystical realm. Mother loves me, but loves to kill. She seems to float through the farm, appearing in meadows, up in the barn, beneath the cars. She is always near me, but never with me. She responds to almost no command, but to some invitations – food, scratching. She avoids predators, hunters, cars and trucks. She vanishes into the grass, melts into the ground.

She purrs whenever she sees me, shadows me like a ghost, loves her independence. I think she may be the smartest living thing on the farm.