All About Fat Zombie
Fat Zombie started growling this morning when I unlocked the door. I pulled it open a crack, peeked out, but didn’t see anything. Maybe a brief flash of something running away. A cat, I believe.
“No. You’re not going out there so you can pick a fight.”
Fat Zombie goes out every morning to hunt. Today, he has to wait until I’m sure there’s nothing out there that’s going to fight him. If it’s a cat, I’m more worried about it than him. Fat Zombie is big and mean.
When I first got Fat Zombie, he was supposed to be a barn cat. Our goat barn and chicken coop were overrun with really confident mice. They didn’t even run away when I caught them lounging in the chicken’s feeder. So when a friend said she had a litter of kittens that needed homes, I took them all.
I’ve always believed that cats have a better life as indoor-only cats. The difference in life expectancy between an indoor cat (14–15 years) and an outdoor cat (2–4 years) is enough of an argument for keeping them inside. But the mice issue made it necessary to get barn cats.
The neighborhood snakes were trying to control the mouse problem. I walked into the coop one day in time to see a snake with a mouse halfway down his throat. I backed away so as not to scare him, told him he was a good snakey. But snakes just can’t decimate a mouse population like cats can.
It was hard for me to get barn cats. Initially, I didn’t plan to get attached to them. But I failed. I loved them all. Then one of them disappeared, and another got hit by a car.
I only have two of them left — Sweet Zombie and Fat Zombie. After Sweet Zombie got sick and nearly died, I made him a housecat permanently. This means that only Fat Zombie goes outside.
Fat Zombie has singlehandedly eliminated the mouse problem. I used to see rats sometimes, too, but not any more. No more mice, shrews, rats, or voles.
He’s the sweetest cat. Every time he sees me, he comes running as if he hasn’t seen me in weeks. Sometimes, it’s only been ten minutes since the last time he came running excitedly to greet me. He stretches up and sinks his claws into my thigh, which is Fat Zombie’s way of saying, “Pick me up. I need a hug!” He loves to be hugged. He loves everybody, including my sister’s Dalmatian. She’s in love with him, too. He rolls on his back so she can pin him down and sniff his belly.
When I go outside, Fat Zombie follows me everywhere. He has mapped out what he believes to be our territory. It’s not an accurate map — extending too far one direction and not far enough the other direction. If I stray too far off of our property, he trails behind me, meowing and meowing. He followed me to the neighbor’s house one day. I could tell he was deeply uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t leave without me. Instead, he sat at the edge of her property and waited, meowing pitifully. When I turned to leave, he waited until I was back on what he thinks of as our property. Once he was sure I was safe, he ran home as fast as he could.
Of course, he doesn’t spend all of his time outside. His curfew is sundown. When the chickens go to bed, it’s time for Fat Zombie to come inside. He sleeps in my cabin, and I let him back out in the morning. He also eats inside and comes inside for naps. Basically, he spends more than half of his time inside. If I’m out of town, he stays inside the whole time I’m gone. Real farmers would probably say he doesn’t count as a barn cat.
That’s pretty true, actually. Fat Zombie never goes in the barn. The barn is scary. I don’t know why — maybe because the goats threaten him when he gets near it? My goats really hate cats.
When I agreed to take a bunch of barn cats, I knew there was a real danger they would all end up living in my small cabin. I can’t help myself. I love them and want to protect them. I don’t know how real farmers do it. Some of them just barely feed their cats; they think they won’t hunt if they’re well-fed. Fat Zombie is proof that cats will hunt even if their bellies are always full. If he’s outside when I feed my cats their canned food, I make sure to call him in.
My goal is to gradually shorten his time outside. Now that we’re not overrun with mice, I think just a few hours of hunting time each day ought to be enough for Fat Zombie to control the population. Currently, he’s sitting by the door, looking back at me expectantly. Eventually, he will scream at me. But for now, he’s being patient. The sun isn’t up yet. When it gets light enough for me to make sure there isn’t an actual monster in the yard, I’ll let him go out.
