Minnie, our 16-year-old barn cat, who came to us as a feral kitten and loved hanging out with chickens, is dying.

She stopped eating and drinking yesterday and can no longer stand or walk. Maria brought up our winter Cat House and put it on the front porch. Minnie crawled out and lay down on the porch.

We put some food down she won’t eat and water in case she is thirsty. We agreed we should leave her alone to die in peace, as her companion barn cat Flo did in the winter.

There is a point with barn cats where you simply have to turn the process over to them.

They have their own rituals.

Maria will check on her occasionally and probably sit with her if she is responsive to that. I want to join them if that happens.

The two are very close. There is nothing more we can do or should do.

Minnie has special significance for us. She was the very first thing we did together. Long before our divorces and separation, I invited Maria, a new friend, to lunch at a restaurant in Salem, N.Y. It was the first time we ever talked with one another, and our friendship seemed promising.

It was so easy for us to talk to one another.

The waitress came over – she knew me – and said she had some feral kittens born beneath her porch.

Did we want one? I said no, I didn’t know much about cats. Maria pointed out that barn cats are beneficial on farms to fend off the mice and rats that love barns. I said we would come by that night.

I asked Maria if she would come with me, as I had very little experience with cats, feral or otherwise. In a sense, this was the beginning of our relationship.

We were married four years later.

I had four barns and 90 acres and thought, why not? That night we drove together to a small farmhouse miles into the country and got Minnie. She was feral and wanted no part of us, but she loved the big barn and attached herself to the chickens.

She became queen of the barn; she loved exploring the hay bales, crevices, and corners. We often looked out the window to see her sitting atop a fence post staring out over the pastures, looking for something to stalk and eat. We hardly ever fed her..

Minnie hung out with the chickens in the barn and slept in their roost sometimes; when her pal Winston the rooster got sick and was dying, she stood guard over his bed for several days; she made sure he wasn’t disturbed by the other chickens, who are known to feast on their sick siblings.

These last few weeks the Imperious hens stood by her while she slept, just as she had done for Winston. That’s how I knew she was dying.

Minnie transitioned to the second Bedlam Farm and fit in, sleeping in the barn on hay bales, under the front porch, or up in a box above the woodshed. She and Maria bonded, and she became easy and affectionate around both of us. She loved all the animals, even when they didn’t love her – Simon the donkey bit and kicked her.

When we moved, Mother, the other barn cat, disappeared, probably trying to return to the other farm. Eventually, Flo showed up, and the two shared different parts of the pasture for hunting.

We almost lost Minnie when a predator went after her, she was nearly killed and had to have a leg amputated, which I opposed, but Maria thought we should do.

She became a three-legged cat, had a painful but full recovery, and continued to hunt mice and moles, although she stayed close to the farmhouse. In the winter, she went into the basement in recent years to sleep in a heated cat house with Flo.

Minnie slowed and thinned gradually; she took residence on the back porch and slept on the chairs Maria put out for her with cushions.

Every morning, Maria would go outside and sing the “Minnie Song” to her and give her some food, and the two would cuddle up. She became Maria’s cat, although we sometimes had our own time together. She loved to be scratched around the ear.

Fate stalked her, but she didn’t care. Zinnia started every morning by slobbering her with kisses, which she seemed to like. When any stranger showed up, she would vanish. Only Bernie the  UPS driver, could get close to her. He loves to talk with her.

Death and life go hand-in-hand on a farm; we’ve lost a lot of dogs and sheep and a donkey and horse we loved. We accept that.

I guess the loss of Minnie goes more profound than most of them; as I said, she was the first thing we ever did together.

We went through a lot with Minnie, and she went through a lot with us. She was a great barn cat, tough on the outside, sweet on the inside.

I imagine she will be gone in the next day or so. Godspeed, Minnie; you will leave a big hole in the farm; you are deeply woven into our story and our hearts. May you chase mice in hay fields for all eternity.

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P.S. I won’t be posting any additional updates until it’s over.