Zip is pretty sharp-looking for a barn cat, but he does have this kind of feral glower. He looks tough, but he’s a pancake.

Our second barn cat, Flo, started the long process of turning me into a cat person; dogs are mostly my thing.

But barn cats especially are fascinating, even mystical creatures to me.

Some are fiercely independent; others are happy to be scratched and fed and get their bellies rubbed. I’m drawn to Zip; Flo was the first cat to choose me and seduce me like some cats do. They love their freedom yet stay close by.

Flow was independent and picky about people, but whenever I came out to the woodshed every morning, she would climb down from her lair on the roof and hang around me. As she got older, we set up a warm spot for her and Minnie in the basement for the coldest days.

I can’t bend over or get to his crate level right now, but I have been starting my day with a visit to Zip. I pull a chair up next to his crate and talk with him. I toss some treats into the crate, and he comes out to get them.

Zip stared at me this morning and inched closer to me, hoping for another treat. We are getting comfortable with one another; I don’t need scratching and rubbing him. Flo and I had many conversations with one another. She could take or leave me, and when she wanted, she would hop up in my lap and accept some affection and scratching. If I wasn’t interested, she’d walk away.

That’s the kind of relationship I’m seeking with Zip; Maria has already gotten him coming forward to get his head and neck rubbed. Zip has calmed down tremendously since he arrived; we both feel he is at peace in his cozy corner of the barn. In a week and a half, he’ll be free; I think he knows he has a good deal here; the pasture and the barn and gardens are full of mice and moles, and the marshes were a cat’s dream for Minnie and Flow.

He is familiar with Fate and Zinnia but hasn’t yet seen the donkeys or the sheep.

As for me, I’ve bounced back from my fever and sickness yesterday; I’m sticking to bran cereal and warm oat bran for my following meals today. It seems pretty clear that I picked up this illness at the Albany Medical Center; they were crammed with emergency cases, and people were packed in the hallway awaiting medical attention.

Brain injuries get priority, I was told, and the doctors were waiting for me. I got there at 3 a.m. They quickly realized that my damage was severe but not life-threatening and ignored me. The most challenging part for me was the pain I felt in my back from the fall and then the dizziness and fuzziness in my brain – the brain bleed will absorb itself in a couple of weeks.

It was a shock to me to feel that I wasn’t in full control of my brain. I felt mood swings and some disorientation.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky I was that Maria was nearby that night, heard me fall, and called the ambulance immediately.

She doesn’t yet realize her strength, but it came through this week. I could not do anything for myself, from eating to bathing to standing up or getting dressed. The hospital said I couldn’t be alone for a couple of weeks and told me that using electronic devices like computers or phones would be dangerous. The brain needed rest just l like the rest of the body.

Prior to this, my most serious injury was open heart surgery. The restrictions on me were serious for months, but I was home three days after the surgery and could quickly do many things for myself. This time, I was helpless and totally dependent. If Maria were not with me, I would have had to go into a rehab recovery facility.

I was no longer completely controlling my brain, and my body was melting.

I guess that’s a severe test of any relationship; we came through it with new levels of love and trust. I am not quite over it yet, but am getting closer by the day.

This confusion and dependence was the most challenging part for me, but I learned to alternate writing, picture-taking, or blogging with rest.

The pain was so severe at first that sitting or lying down was excruciating. Getting up was dangerous.  I couldn’t do it alone. This lasted for a week and is getting better. I can stand up by myself, and if I stay still for 30 seconds, I can move around and walk. Moving my head can stir the dizziness and imbalance; I must be slow and cautious.

Zinnia has been my ghost companion; she is always with me, even following me into the bathroom. She sleeps with her head on my feet.

I insisted on going to the bathroom alone; I didn’t need to subject Maria to that. I did need help getting in and out of the shower.

I’m older than she is, and I have this fear sometimes that she will fall out of love with me if it gets too messy or intrusive.

I see that I am misjudging and underestimating her by feeling that way, but I still try to put limits on what I ask of her.

She is back at work on a new quilt and churning out some beautiful potholders, and if anything, our love and trust for each other has depended. I am pretty sure I wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t called the ambulance when she did. Saratoga Hospital commandeered an ambulance transporting someone else and got me to the Albany Medical Center quickly. They specialize in brain injuries and trauma cases there. That’s where I had my open heart surgery.

Yesterday was one of my worst days; my fever was debilitating; today is becoming one of my best. I got up early, went outside, took photos, and napped. Maria was comfortable leaving me for the first time to fill my spot at the Mansion. We’ve agreed that she should go to her belly dancing class Wednesday night and leave me alone.

We are moving slowly back to life. I am healing and getting stronger. My mind is getting focused and healthy. Life is full of crisis and mystery. I am nothing but fortunate. Every time I get sick, I get wiser and learn more. I am feeling strong and clear once more. I can tell by my writing.

Above, this bucket was the oldest object remaining on my first Bedlam Farm. I’ll always keep it nearby. It’s good to be inching back to normal.