There’s no better way to find a farm cat than not to look for it.

As soon as you look, the cats disappear, going about their inscrutable journeys. On silent feet, they slink away into corners and slip into the rows. They find cozy hollows underneath benches, behind planters, nestled into a warm tangle of hay.

Then, as soon as you forget they’re wandering around, one bumps its head up against the curved palm of your hand or winds its way around your ankles.

Our cats love meeting new visitors, and often stop by to say hello before trotting off on a secret mission. Other times, we don’t see them all day long.

There’s one exception, and one place where we’re guaranteed to see them every time. Whoever’s closing up the market always walks out to a little conference of cats, waiting patiently at the door in the pool of light, asking for one last pat and snuggle before the humans leave for the night. Somehow, they understand and anticipate the rhythm of the day, and pause just for a moment in their own pursuits to say goodnight.

Then, quietly, they vanish into the darkness.