In the three years I’ve lived on this farm, I’ve never once sat in the rocking chair by the back porch. The barn cats have taken over this space, made it their thrones. Flo in particular rules from there, glowering at the dogs and daring them to come near, soaking up the sun, watching us come and go in her regal way. She is a long way from the woodshed where she hid for so long before she revealed herself to me, and seduced me. Now she sits in my chair.