Nobody knows when the cats appeared at The Barn retreat centre, but they were ancient when I was there in 2022-23. Brother and sister, chalk and cheese, dark and light, sweet and spicy; Cirrus was tabby, frail and nervous and Nimbus was black, muscly and naughty as they come.

The retreat centre belonged to the cats and we were merely their temporary guests. Cirrus lived on the two metre square of carpet outside the meditation hall, waiting patiently to be petted by kind and calm retreatants. Our meditation was accompanied by the sounds of her snoring loudly in her little kennel just outside the door.

Nimbus never waited to be petted. He would stride right up to anyone who had hands and demand to be stroked strongly and vigorously. But there was a limit to how much love Nimbus could handle. He'd suddenly reach his peak, his ears would twitch and he'd bite and scratch the hands that had shown him affection. We warned every new group of retreatants, “Beware his temper and whatever you do, don’t tickle his belly!”

Nimbus roamed the land all day. He knew our schedule like the back of his paw and he'd appear like clockwork wherever we were. At sunrise, we’d traipse out onto the land overlooking the wide river Dart and do our chi gong-inspired morning movements and Nimbus would weave in between our legs. He’d walk with me up to the chicken coop to collect the eggs. Then later, in the organic garden, Nimbus would interrupt the retreatants’ work by rolling around in the freshly dug flower beds, “Look at me! Aren’t I gorgeous?”

It was during a work retreat that Nimbus first climbed inside a sun-warmed wheelbarrow and one of the retreatants decided to take him for a little ride. Nimbus liked this so much that in all future retreats, he would find his moment to sit in a wheelbarrow and stare at any random nearby retreatant until they worked out that he wanted a ride.

The cats were not allowed in the retreat centre, but Nimbus always found a way! He'd sneakily get his claws into the door of the meditation room and hide underneath the altar table with the candles and matches, and if you tried to get him out, he'd hiss and he'd spit. The only way to evacuate Nimbus from the meditation room was to plug in the hoover, there’s nothing he hated more than the hoover.

Us volunteers worked two weeks on, one week off and on our weeks off, we got to stay in the Goose House, a tiny little hut on the side of a hill that had a wood burner, a stove, a sink, a bed, a table, a chair and no electricity. During my Goose House weeks, I’d often be woken in the early hours with the sound of scratching at the door. I’d open the door to find two green eyes staring at me from the darkness. Over the months, I learned to read him and he learned to trust me and he gradually worked his way into the Goose House bed to snuggle in with me. 

I loved Nimbus. I loved his dangerous, wild, unpredictable nature and I loved how clear he was about how he wanted to be loved. Rest in power, sweet beast.