I was clacking away on my computer this morning when I saw a sheriff’s car pull into the driveway. I got up and went to the door, and this very courteous officer came to knock on the door. This was a first for me.
“Do you have a cat who lives here?” he said after knocking on the door. “We got a call from someone who said you had a cat freezing in the cold and wouldn’t let him in the house. She thought you were abusing him.”
I would typically have been shocked, but this is America in 2024. I invited the deputy to come into the house. Bud and Zinnia met him at the door; he loved Bud.
I took him out through the house and out to the back door. Zip was sitting on his daytime perch on the back porch. He came right over to greet the officer, and I picked him up and held him briefly.
“I appreciate what you are doing, officer,” I said, “would you like to come out to the barn and see where Zip lives?”
I suppressed a smile. Even by city standards, an outdoor cat with a heated house is not considered abuse. I couldn’t wait to show him.
My neighbors likely thought I needed mental help to give a barn cat a heated house. A farmer and blog reader texted, “a barn cat with a heated cat house? You must be crazy.”
I told the officer I was crazy, but the problem wasn’t abuse. He laughed.
“He looks awful healthy,” he said of Zip, “and he seems to like you a lot. He’s a beautiful cat, and he sure isn’t starving.” I could tell he was a bit shocked.
We walked together out to the barn, and we went inside together. I showed him the heated cathouse where Zip chooses to sleep and where we would like him to sleep.
I had a flash of annoyance. I was lucky that the officer came to see for himself. So many real farmers are regularly harassed by people driving by and calling the sheriff when their horses or cows lie down to nap. He was doing his job and doing it right. I pitied the person who called the police on Zip and me. Do they really have nothing better to do? It seemed pathetic to me.
The police definitely have better things to do.
But as much as we laughed, I couldn’t help but think how ironic it is that a mameber of a movement that claims to protect animals would call the police on someone who has spent weeks slobbering over his newfound love of a cat and pestered his wife into installing a heated house in the barn because he was so worried about the cat being cold. That this could be seen as abuse is pretty revealing in an ideology turned upside down..
I am amazed that I would be seen as an abuser because I probably loved the cat too much. Go figure. Still, I am a storyteller and am always grateful when a sweet story like this is dumped on my head. I can’t pretend to be a victim, I confess that I love it.
Maybe someone in the movement might take some time to help animals who really are being abused. It happens all the time.
We all have to live with people like the ones who call him, and I will never give in to them.
“Well,” he said, staring at Zip and the heated house, “would you mind if I came over occasionally and napped here? We both cracked up.
The officer said the caller claimed I wouldn’t let Zip into the house.
“That is true,” I said, ” and he doesn’t want to come into the house. He is a barn cat, and people in cities think it’s cruel for a barn cat to live in a barn. Zip has had all of his vaccines, and is fed twice a day, and stroked for much of the rest of it.“
“But,” said the officer, “he’s an outdoor cat, right? They live outdoors and in barns.”
Yes, I said, we have rats and mice in the barn; his job is to get rid of them for us and keep the animal’s food clean and safe. You know that because you live here. To some city people, letting a cat live outdoors is a crime.
“So people who don’t live here think this is cruel?,” he said, a bit bewildered, trying to make sense out of air, trying to figure out why he was there in the first place.
“Yes,” they do,” I answered. “I’ve been getting nasty messages from people about Zip not coming to the house to sleep for weeks now. But you can see that he is far from being mistreated; if anything, he is already spoiled rotten. I love him a lot, though.” I explained that I was a writer and blogger and believed in being open about my life and animals. That made me a target. It’s my choice. I take responsibility for it. The idea of being free to make decisions no matter how much you love your animals is in doubt. I’m proud to be accused of abusing Zip by these people. It means I’m doing my job.”
And Zip is a beautiful barn cat, I thought again, saving us from invasions from pigeons, rats, and mice. Mum q text
Maria, who saw the deputy and I walking into the barn, came out to see what was happening. She probably thought I would be hauled off to jail at long last.
When I told her the police had gotten a call from an animal rights people accusing me of animal abuse, Maria was speechless (a rare thing). She couldn’t believe it. “I thought this had to be a joke,” she said, “I couldn’t imagine why he was here.” I never saw her look more surprised. She picked Zip up and gave him a big hug.
Zip loved the officer, rubbed against his legs, and was happy to accompany him to his home inside the barn. “He even has a rocking chair,” said the sheriff.
The officer thanked me for understanding why he needed to check it out. I should have taken his picture.
Poor Zip, in his heated cat house in the barn.
I said there was no apology necessary. I said the problem with many animal rights people is that they know nothing about animals and don’t like or trust people very much. They also seem to have a lot of free time. People who see animal abuse should report it to the police; it’s just a shame that the ignoramuses are the most likely ones to call.
I said I appreciated his work and the risks and abuse the police take, and I thanked him for coming.
As he left, he turned and said, “You’re the writer, aren’t you? Didn’t you have an injured bear on the road who crawled onto your pasture a few years ago?”
Yes, I said, that was us, thinking of the poor bear hit by a big truck while crossing the road. I thought of Ed Gulley and how he took the bear’s body home to skin it.
You did a great job getting rid of that bear, I said. We were stunned by a big black bear dying in our pasture. The police were great, helpful, and patient.
“Somebody called that night to say you were abusing the bear,” he said. “Somebody pulled over to ask if we were mistreating the bear.”
Yes, I remember, he said. When Simon, our donkey, died of a stroke, the vet made us haul him out of sight of the road, or somebody would call the police and claim he was murdered.
He smiled. “Every time I drive by, I think of that bear. The state people had to shoot him because he was so severely injured.”
The deputy apologized again for interrupting my work. “No sweat,” I said; “people like that are my work in many ways. It’s good that you checked on the welfare of an animal. Sorry, this one was such bullshit.”
I thought of taking his picture, but then I thought some people would criticize him for not hauling me to jail or giving me a summons. He was too nice a guy for that. There is no reward for being generous and polite.
I appreciated the deputy’s professionalism. He wasn’t aggressive or suspicious, just thorough. He immediately saw that Zip was in great shape, much loved and cared for, and warm when cold, but he still wanted to look and see for himself.
I can’t say I love being investigated for loving this cat so much, and I’m lucky that the sheriff lives up here where barn cats are a revered and essential way of life. But what I thought was, wow, what a neat story this will be to write. What a gift.
The farmers have to put up with this all the time; I’m one of the lucky ones, even though I probably have a police report on my record now. Zip is worth every minute of it.
This is the sad reality of an animal rights movement that knows nothing about animals or those who love and care for them away from cities.
The tragedy for animals is that no movement protects them from the worst abuse, from factory farms or cruel corporate dairies (where cows are never permitted to leave their stalls and chickens can never stand up); those are the animals who are routinely and savagely abused.
But there’s no money in it for the movement; they would instead find exhausted farmers and the elderly poor people and circus handlers and working people like the carriage horse drivers and pony ride givers to pick on and claim they are abusing the animals, very often animals they love and are keeping alive.
I have a voice and can take care of myself. So many animal lovers can’t. I’m a dreamer; someday, there will be a movement that protects the rights of animals rather than drive them away from us and abuse the people who love them and care for them.
