Flo – named after Florence Walrath, another determined woman, who lived in the farmhouse before us – is one of the most remarkable animals I have yet met in my life with animals. Maria says I am smitten by her, this is true, we definitely connect, but I am also fascinated by her. I’ve been living with cats – barn cats – for years, but Flo’s journey, her story is one of the most astonishing and fascinating to me. I don’t know if cats can plan Presidential campaigns, but any candidate for office would be wise to study her long and calculating travels from an abandoned cat living under the porch and in the woodshed and hiding from us, to the Queen of the farm.
As bitter winter storms rage around us amidst plunging temperatures and blowing drifts, Flo now watches them from her sheepskin rug atop a living room chair, or if the light is right, her cat stand by the window. She has faced a long hard march to get where she is, and I have never really seen anything quite like it, it has brought me deeper into the world of cats and more importantly, the amazing instincts and will of some animals.
Flo is about two or three years, according to the vet, she has been spayed and seems easy around people, my guess is she was abandoned near the farmhouse, that’s the vets idea also. There was another old barn cat living behind the barn, but he vanished after we came with the donkeys.
Flo’s first task was to get our attention, she spent nearly a year hiding in the woodshed, we found her nest, Maria brought bedding and blankets there but we never saw her. Perhaps she was unnerved by the dogs. One day, during a storm last winter, she appeared outside Maria’s window – a smart move, she got fed and began to show herself. I’m not sure how she survived in the months before Maria saw here.
Her next challenge was me. I have never permitted cats in the house, I believe barn cats belong outside and can care for themselves. We always give them shots, make sure they are neutered and spayed, give them kibble when the weather is rough, but I have never really felt close to a cat. Flo changed this, she would sit next to me while I stacked wood in the shed, appearing out of nowhere, giving me the eye. I began to pick her up and scratch her. When I saw outside to meditate or sit with Maria, she would hop up onto my chair, circle around me, never a pest, just a presence. If I was not interested, she’d go away. I noticed her big green eyes.
She often spent the night on the back porch, but showed no signs of wanting to come in. But by now I was worrying about her, bringing her food in the shed, sitting on the porch while she crawled into my lap. Flo is a reserved cat, she is affectionate but not slobbery, she has her own life.
When Minnie came into the house after her amputation, Flo seemed to notice that and sat on the porch looking in. When the bad weather hit, I just picked her up one freezing night. Her campaign inside of the house was just as careful as her one outside. She terrorized the dogs, one by one, found two or three high perches from which to rule. When I sit and read, or take a nap, she appears and curls up in my lap and goes to sleep. She is soft and warm and quiet. I never let her in my study, she never comes in, I never interact with her while I am eating, she never comes near me while I am eating.
She is the monarch of the house now, parading past the wide-eyed Frieda, hissing at anybody who gets too close. Poor Lenore is afraid to go near her. She has even stopped smacking Minnie around. The minds of cats are quite amazing, I will enjoy trying to figure all of this out.
I can’t figure out quite how she did it, or how I let her do it, but every time I see her so comfortable and dry in the bitter cold or whirling snow, I feel good. I think of all of the storms she weathered out in the woodshed, and I marvel at her patient and smart campaign to get where she wanted to be.