Without a doubt, Zip is a creature of confidence and a master flirter. He has reorganized the farm satisfactorily and is expanding his favorite hunting, hiding, and sleeping places. He is pleased with himself. He moves around like a ghost, popping up here and there, hiding and disappearing, showing up the minute I sit down or come out of the farmhouse.

We were told Zip didn’t like to get into people’s laps, but he has gotten over it. He loves Maria’s lap, and he is getting fond of mine.

He is just a happy cat. He loves to be with us. He loves to be without us. Although I have seen concrete evidence of his hunting, he is focused on capturing one of the savvy chipmunks who built and hid in all those tunnels.

My daughter Emma came up yesterday; it was love at first sight. She is a cat person, and Zip is a people person; the two spent much of the day together, Zip getting scratches, hugs, and, yes, treats (I know, Emma).

Zip knows his cat people when he sees them, he almost ran into the house after Emma when she stopped loving him. He didn’t make it, then or in the future.

The word that keeps coming to mind when I think of Zip is “happy.” He is a pleased cat. He’s happy in the barn, buried in the Dahlia Garden, melting into Maria’s Gardens and dozing underneath raised flower beds. He’s also discovered, as previous barn cats did, the joy of sleeping on wicker and fiber chairs on the back porch.

He’s researched every corner of the farm and goes from one to another. He has driven the hens out of their favored spots, but they are accommodating for it by finding new places to hang out. And he’s almost done chasing the pigeons away.

He loves people, but he also loves solitary hiding and wandering. He’s an excellent fit for us so far. Fingers crossed. Maria left this afternoon; she wasn’t happy about it, and neither was he.

Life is good for Zip. Perhaps that is why he has also enriched ours. I had my Zip time when Emma left; he’ll settle for second best.