Cats seem to fit in almost any environment, they are agile, smart and entitled. Flo artistically arranged herself for a portrait this morning, when I look up from the car as I was starting it, she had just hopped up onto the armchair of her rocking chair, the photograph moved in a steady curve, a half-circle from her to the cushion, making the photograph somewhat artistic to me. I shot it from the car window, because if I got out of the car, she’d move towards me.

The Minnie saga has left me uneasy and a bit guilty about Flo, she has gotten less attention than before, I see her watching Minnie come into the house. The other day Maria and I were startled to find Flo sitting on the kitchen floor, we have no idea how she got there. On cold and bitter nights, I am tempted to bring her into the house, if Frieda can tolerate Minnie, she can handle Flo (poor Frieda, she might resign and leave). I notice that I do feel a bit guilty about Flo.  I don’t know what Flo wants, I do not know what animals are thinking. I never wanted Minnie in the house, let alone Flo as well. I don’t want to share a small space with three large dogs and two cats, that is too much animal hair and smell for me.

In our time at Bedlam Farm, there was never a question of the cats coming inside, Mother wouldn’t dream of giving up her life, and Minnie seemed quite happy in the barn with her chicken pals. The story of animals is the story of life, which is why I love to write about them, for me, it’s never really about the animals, it’s about the people’s responses to the animals. I don’t know what Flo is up to, she is considering things, I suspect. I’ll find out, I also suspect.