Several thoughtful, honest, and concerned people have messaged me to ask why we won’t do more to protect Zip by confining him at night in the barn or elsewhere. The messages were exciting and raised important questions.

I’m struck by the civility and respect of these messages, and I was especially touched by this one from Pam, someone new to me. I want to thank her for the tone she set.

Pam is one of those people who gives me hope that we can learn to speak to each other in America again, even when we disagree.

Thanks, Pam. We disagree, and I think you and others deserve an explanation, even though I have tried to explain it several times. Zip has shaken things up here.

I should add that I don’t tell others what to do or believe everything I do is right. I do my best to leave everyone to make their own decisions and try to respect them. I don’t seek to change anyone’s mind, to explain mine.

Do I think it’s anyone else’s business? Yes, in this case, I do.

From Pam:

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I don’t understand why you wouldn’t exercise the same caution for a cat as you do with your dogs. I adopted one cat who was allowed to roam all night and was hit by a car and suffered a broken jaw, a broken humor, and a broken hip. I adopted another who was allowed to roam all night, who was attacked by a predator and lost her back leg. I live in a rural neighborhood where there are many barn cats—those who are Locked in the cozy barn at night stay alive—those who are not locked in don’t last very long— between coyotes, bobcats, and owls, even the savvy ones have the odds stacked against them. I see you as loving guardians, but I do not understand why this lovely kitty is not protected as you protect your other animals in such admiral ways.” — Pam

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There is nothing disrespectful about your message, Pam; here, as best I can, are the reasons Maria and I share for not wanting Zip in the house or to confine him at night elsewhere.

First, and most practically, the barn is too big and open to secure; it would be impossible and expensive to confine him there. We have had barn cats that lived to be 15 and 16 without living or sleeping in the house (as they got older, we let them come into a heated cat house in the basement in subzero weather). As most of our readers know, we had some trouble.

Besides that, Zip’s appearances are not regular; he comes and goes at odd times. He is not always there for us to confine. We do understand the dangers.

Mother, the barn cat from the first Bedlam Farm, ran off and disappeared when we moved to the current farm.

Minnie, who came to us as a feral kitten, was attacked by a predator and had to have a back leg amputated, just as yours was. She recovered and lived a long and peaceful time. Flo stayed outside and lived to be at least 16; we’re not sure of her age, but the vet estimated it. She never wanted to come inside until she was ancient.

From my research and after talking to vets, I’ve found that it is not true that all barn cats live short lives.

Two vets I’ve spoken with in the country tell me that barn cats who are cared for – fed and vaccinated and provided health care and shelter – live longer than house cats, partly because they have physical activity, are fed regularly, and are given attention and a safe and dry place to sleep.

There is also evidence that they are healthier when they eat some of the things cats naturally eat.

Pam has a lot of examples of barn cats being harmed, and I have a lot of stories about those who lived entire and free lives.

Our barn cats have all lived a long time. I understand there is a risk to any animals roaming at night, but I should mention that every home environment is different. What happens on one farm or house is not necessarily what must happen here.

Farms draw cats, and farmers can’t afford to care for them all. Most leave some milk for them but otherwise ignore them.

Our sheep are not confined at night. Our donkeys protect them; they are guard animals, so we have them. No animal here has ever been lost to a predator or coyote, even though the coyotes come so close almost every night that our dogs howl at them.

Cats are not dogs; the two species are very different.

Our dogs could not survive at night without being in bed and roaming in the pasture or the woods. One reason is that they are rarely permitted to run freely and learn how to survive; almost everything has to be done for them.

Cats are not as domesticated as dogs, and many – not all – are savvy and skilled at surviving. I admire that about them.

Zip lived outdoors for a year before we got him, and I see he is experienced and wise – he never goes near the road for any reason, stays close to the house and the barn, and roams the marsh.

I don’t see Zip as a “lovely kitty”; he’s a mature, intelligent, independent animal who enjoys freedom and is loved and cared for. I’m proud of giving him that life.

Our dogs do take risks. We can’t guarantee them a perfect life.

Border collies working around sheep are often injured; they suffer heat stroke, joint injuries, and bone injury.

They quite often die young. Working the way they do is in itself a danger sometimes.

Our dogs have never been on leashes, and they walk and run in the woods; they have run into bears, seen bobcats, and barked at nearby coyotes. We do not confine them or leash them in the country.

Dogs can be dogs here. Zinnia is a sweet Lab; she would rush to a coyote to make friends. But she still gets to walk in the woods.

On the farm, we have found that predators – hawks, bears, bobcats and owls, coyotes, and ferrets – do not come near the barn or the donkeys, whose shelter is just a few feet from where Zip sleeps at night.

Pam and I have philosophical differences about animals.

On Bedlam Farm, we cherish the idea that animals are animals, and where feasible, they should be given the freedom and respect of animals. We never confine our animals. We provide them with the option of shelter. But they get to go where they want inside of the pasture fence.

If we fed and confined Zip to the barn, he would no longer be a barn cat, and he would not have the opportunity to explore the farm at night and learn what is safe and what isn’t. The rats and mice would have a field day.

Zip would not be a barn cat but a house cat who slept in a barn.

That is different.

Barn cats hunt around the property for rats, mice, and moles. They keep rats from having offspring. Rats can spread disease and sicken out animals. Zip has real work to do.

One of their primary functions is to keep rodents out of the barn and away from the farmhouse. Limiting their movements at night would make that task difficult, if not impossible. How would they learn to hunt at night? People who do not have barns see it differently.

There is another practical issue: we don’t want Zip to live in the house or be confined in any way. We love his freedom of movement, love of exploration, and independence. He would be a nightmare in the house.

We don’t wish to emotionalize him or the process by treating him as humans would want to be treated or as household pets are treated. He isn’t a dog or anything like a dog, and I don’t wish to treat him as anything but an outdoor cat who has learned to take care of himself.

There are risks to life for humans or cats. I know people who died of cancer, got killed in a car crash, contracted a fatal disease, or had strokes and heart attacks.

Drunken drivers kill people all the time around here, and children die in gun accidents. But we don’t hide away; we live our lives.

So do animals.

I do not believe my job as a steward is to guarantee a life for Zip that is free of freedom or danger or the reality of living.

We all have to face the realities of life. We have risks – tetanus, ticks, kicks, icy roads, extreme cold, and spider bites. We take risks living on a farm in a remote corner of upstate New York.

We believe we are giving Zip the life he wants and deserves, and yes, there are risks, just as there are to anyone who gets into a car or, in modern-day America, goes shopping at Walmart.

Jack London wrote what I think is the best book ever written about dogs in his classic Call Of The Wild.

The story follows Buck—a mix of St. Bernard and Scotch collie—throughout his journey as a sled dog. Buck is the anthropomorphized main character in Jack London’s The Call of the Wild.

Buck undergoes a profound physical and mental transformation from being a spoiled dog from a wealthy family to a toiling sled dog to a wild wolf dog.

His human is murdered, and Buck seeks vengeance and then lives a life of freedom and independence.

I love The story because London does not see dogs as furbabies or homegrown therapists. Buck is a dog, at heart, a wild thing who faces danger daily and kills when needed, as dogs have done for thousands of years.

One day, I might have to write that Zip went off at night and never returned. That is the life of the barn cat. And people will fault me for not keeping him safe.

But as a dog, they were meant to be free until humans decided they wanted them to be something more. I feel the same way about Zip.

Pam, I don’t think our reasoning is impossible to understand. I don’t think it’s your philosophy. You have every right to think differently from me, you and most people do. I appreciate your manners and civility. Good luck with your cats.

I suspect you won’t be changing your mind, which isn’t my purpose. I don’t try to do that. But I hope you understand my reasoning. And thanks again for being pleasant and thoughtful.