Since the death of Flo a couple of weeks ago, Minnie has been living alone, mainly in the basement, sleeping in the heated cat house she and Flo loved.

Minnie is as old as my relationship with Maria. We had just met, and a restaurant waitress asked if I wanted a feral kitten under her porch. Maria and I were having our first lunch together as friends; this was 14 or 15 years ago. Minnie was about to enter our lives.

We went together to pick up Minnie – Maria held her in the car – and brought her to the first farm at Bedlam Farm. Minnie took to the big and beautiful barn there. She was skittish around us, like most barn cats, but she took to the chickens, hung out with them, and slept with them.

When our sweet Rooster Winston got sick, Minnie sat and guarded him for days to keep the other chickens from pecking at him. Chickens are not lovely to sick chickens.

But she was not especially fond of us, as often happens with feral barn cats.

Minnie hunted our extensive pastures happily and rarely got fed anything. We hardly ever saw her. She did love the dogs and the donkeys.

Once in a while, she came close to me but mostly kept out of sight. She let Maria scratch her head once in a bit. When we moved to the new Bedlam Farm, she loved to sit on fenceposts and look for mice and moles out in the field. She often left their body parts on the porch.

Mother was our other barn cat, but they had little to do with each other, and one day Mother disappeared. Flo arrived, and she and Minnie spat now and then; we could hear the yowling and hissing all over the house. But mostly, they each carved out their territory and stayed within their boundaries. They were both loners.

Minnie has always been a bit feral and cherished the life of the barn cat.

She warmed up to us at the new farm, and while entirely independent, she began to love some petting and scratching, and Maria won her over with love and treats. Flo had won me over, but I mainly remained a dog person, Flo and I connected once in a while, which was good for both of us.

Minnie was attached one night by an unidentified predator, and she had to have a leg amputated. She was never quite the same; I’m still not sure we did the right thing by amputating her leg.

She mostly confined herself to the back porch but would go into the barn in the rain and sleep in the haystacks. She became even more loving. When she and Flo got old, they started snuggling together to stay warm. They became inseparable.

The harsh winter was too rough on them, so they began sleeping in the basement (well stocked with mice, moles, bats,  cat beds, fresh water, natural lights, and a heated bed.) In recent months, they were always together.

Flo is gone now, and Minnie chooses to stay in the basement, she sleeps most of the day, but we find the occasional mouse tail or bat wing on the ground near her cat house. Left alone, she rushes to the basement door, her warm and safe place.

Every night, Maria goes down to the basement, brings her upstairs, and cuddles for an hour or two. Maria is happy to sit with us (But starest at her) and glad to return to the basement. She is eating well, appreciating attention, and being left alone. This was how she began life and how it would end for her.