Almost a decade ago, Maria and I – we had just become friends – were having lunch at a funky old restaurant in a nearby town. The waitress, who knew me, came over and asked if I might be interested in adopting a feral kitten, born underneath her house and in need of a new home.

I was living alone then, and I had four big barns that were empty most of the time. I was to offer one of them to Maria, an artist in desperate need of a work space.

There was plenty of room in the others. At that farm, I had spent an outrageous amount of money to restore all four barns, in my delusional mind I wanted to give history a gift. They all needed new foundations and walls, one was tilting so far off its foundation I knew we had to either tear it down and fix it, and it was just too beautiful a barn to tear down. It was built at the beginning of the Civil War.

Maria thought it was a great idea to adopt this kitten, she is one of those people who will stop to help an injured rabbit get to a vet or wildlife worker.

I agreed, why not? Old barns tend to fill up with rats and mice if there are no barn cats, and our fierce barn cat Mother would probably like the company.

We drove far out into the country to see the waitress and meet the kitten who had been living under her barn. I named it Minnie after grandmother and we took her home. Minnie loved living in the big barn, she was also a fierce hunter, divvied up the territory between her and mother and the two of them drove out the rats in the stone wall and countless mice in the fields and barns.

Minnie lived among the chickens and loved them. When we moved to this new farm, Mother vanished and was never seen again and Minnie took to it as if she had always lived her. Three years later, she was attacked by some other animal – we never knew  what kind –  and had to have a leg amputated.

I was and still am conflicted about the decision to amputate her and keep her alive. It cost thousands of dollars and  was very difficult for Minnie. She has never fully recovered. She hunts when she can, struggles in the cold, and can’t get to many of the places she used to love.

We’ve set up some places for her to sit that she can reach – not the pillow on her wooden box. Most nights when it is cold, she comes into the basement.

She and Maria are very close, I am closer to Flo.

But Minnie is a great and venerable presence on the farm now, she mostly sits on the back porch and waits to eat. I don’t see her hunting much any more, and because she can’t really run, she has gained a good deal of weight.

I don’t know if amputating her leg was a good decision or not, but we do love Minnie and are happy she has found some peace and comfort her. Bud tried to chase her once, but she just pawed him a bit on the nose, and then purred at  him, and he has never bothered her since.

It is gratifying to rescue an animal – Minnie was rescued twice – but I wonder often what they would say about it if they could talk and tell us.

I often wonder what the gap is between what we need and what they need.