Cats were a normal part of our childhood. We had the occasional housecat, but most of the time our cat herd congregated in the hayloft, where I used to climb up the wooden ladder that was tied to the barn beam with binder twine and scrape off the dinner scraps into a big pan.

I always hated it in the winter when I was asked to take the scraps out to the cats, because usually by the time I did it, it was dark, and my young mind created all kinds of monsters lurking in the corners of the barn just waiting to jump out and grab me.

Every farm has cats. Although some of us see little to no value in them, they are a necessity to keep the rodents out. And when I had young children, I found out they are also good entertainment when I needed to keep the kids occupied.

When I wrote a feature story about a “Breakfast on the Farm” event, I found out they had ambassador “cred,” as one little girl thought the best part of the entire visit to the farm was the cats. And when you’re waiting for a cow to finish milking, new kittens create all sorts of boredom-busting breaks.

But have you ever noticed how well barn cats are taken care of?

I watched a Snapchat video of a dairy farmer as he fed the barn cats. He had a bucket of milk, and as he walked from the milk house to the cat troughs, he was careful not to step on even one of his 15 cats that danced around his ankles, knowing they were about to get their warm morning treat.

He had three old, battered pie pans and he carefully dumped the hay chaff out of each pan before serving their creamy breakfast. Immediately, the cats circled the pans and filled their tummies on a cold, snowy Minnesota morning.

That feeding ritual isn’t unique to that dairy farm. Cats from coast to coast were getting the same treatment in old barns and fancy new barns all across rural America this wintry morning.

Some of those cats are sick, mangy and just plain nasty to look at. Some of them are pregnant, nursing, and the neighborhood father tom cat wanders in with cuts and bruises from fighting off his competition. Some of the mother cats have been there for years, and others were dropped off by someone who didn’t have any more use for their housecat.

But none of this matters to the farmer; he feeds them all. The cat herd grows and then it thins out. Some of them are tamed and others remain skittish. All the while, the farmer continues to tend to his cat herd.

With the pressures of low milk prices, bad weather, frozen pipes, gelled-up skid steers, milk pumps that burn up on New Year’s Eve and the letter that says they will no longer be receiving quality premiums in their milk check, they still take the time to feed a bunch of four-legged furry creatures who barely earn their keep.

But it’s no surprise to those of us who know them. We know a farmer will care for everything that has breath, keep it thriving through cold weather – and enjoy quiet communication that can only be experienced by the one who was created to care for every living thing.

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.