Our barn cat Flo, the first cat ever seduced me, is failing. She isn’t eating, is disoriented, and rarely leaves her heated cat bed in the basement. She is deaf and no longer seems to know where she is.

Maria and I have seen s sharp decline in Flo in the past few days.

She was named after Florence Walrath, the wonderful woman we bought the farmhouse from. Florence was loving and challenging at the same time.

She wished to remain in her house for all her life and made it to 102.

We don’t know how old Flo is; she hid in the woodshed for months or years before showing herself to Maria during a wicked blizzard. That was a good move.

She went to work on me, and I fell in love with her, my first real cat romance. Flo was rough and independent, like her namesake, and didn’t hesitate to smack the dogs around if they got fresh.

They all give her a wide birth. For me, she was nothing but sweet.

She is comfortable. We are not taking her to the vet; we’ll keep her in her heated house in the basement, offer her food, hold her and talk to her – she loves sitting in my lap.

You never know, but it feels like she’s near the end.

The farm is a great teacher of life and death; we honor both here.

There is no better fate for a cat than to end up in Maria’s care. I live in wonder at barn cats, there are both wild and can be affectionate like Flo.

She was a ferocious hunter; the mice will dance for joy when she passes.

We’ll take good care of her until the time comes.

She had a great life while here, she has her own blanketed suite (heated) up in the woodshed and a heated cat house went it gets cold. In recent years, she and Minnie warm each other up in the cold.

Minnie will really miss her.

We don’t expect Flo to go outside much again, if at all. Thanks for loving her and her photos. I’ve learned that our animals belong to everyone.