There’s an old English idiom that says, “To have no truck with.” It basically means that someone doesn’t go in for syrupy or emotional stuff.

I’ve never been overly sentimental. But something happened two days before Christmas that made me question my sentimentality.

Two years ago, someone dumped an expectant momma cat at our place. We live on a homestead in the country. People find our dead end road irresistible for dispensing of their animal responsibilities.

The momma kitty decided that behind our greenhouse was the best place to bring her litter into the world. When the kittens came to the age that they could receive vaccinations and be fixed, we took them to the vet.

We found homes for some. The rest stayed around. One in particular was the most loving and cutest of them all.

Sammy, by all appearances, looked Siamese. Skinny and talkative, he was the happiest of all the cats, but struggled with a pulmonary problem. The vet said that some cats get this when they’re outside for an extended period after they’re born.

Sammy struggled. We’ve given him shots, liquid meds, and chewables. He’s never been completely healthy, but we’d kept him as close to healthy as possible.

The vet said he’d need to live inside. If he was outside, he would get sicker and likely wouldn’t make it long.

Then, a few days before Christmas, the unthinkable happened. Sammy got out. Someone left the door open. I went out just in time to see the back of him bolting into the woods.

We looked and looked for two days. Sent out notifications for neighbors. Nothing.

I had no idea how close I was to this cat until he was gone. I feared what was happening to him. I didn’t sleep. I prayed for him to be seen by someone who’d call me and I’d go get him.

But, no.

Then, just as I was feeling about as low as I had in a while, the blessings began to flow.

Two days before Christmas, two family members were released from their respective hospitals. One had been in and out (mostly in) the hospital for months. The other had been expected to spend the holidays there. My wife and I thanked God and talked about what a blessing it was to have them both home for the holidays.

And then, a third blessing.

I go to bed early. I get up early. So, when I was still awake and up at a later hour, two days before Christmas, I commented to my wife that I wasn’t sure why I was still awake.

My wife was in the kitchen and I was sitting in my chair, when Rocky, our other cat who was Sammy’s litter mate, sprinted down the hall to the back, glass door.

Rocky doesn’t normally do that, so I got up to see what the excitement was about. There, staring at me through the glass, was Sammy.

This was a cat that not been outside for two years. Had not explored the great outdoors and certainly, in my estimation, had any sense of where he was, outside of the confines of our home.

I slowly opened the door fearing he would run. Surely, after being outside for two days with no food or family, he’d be traumatized.

Nope. He didn’t run. He looked up at me as if to say, “Where have you been?”

He came right to me. I picked him up and brought him in the house. He acted as if nothing had happened.

I don’t get emotional often. Matter of fact, as I mentioned, I seldom do. But my wife and I both lost it.

I had already written Sammy off. We had worked so hard to keep him with us that when he ran into the woods, sick, and wasn’t seen for two days, I didn’t have even a little bit of hope.

But the Lord has a way of reminding us about the importance of faith. Especially at Christmas. A time when all of us should remember what faith can do. What faith has done. And will continue to do.

The kind of faith that sometimes requires us to have a truck for the sentimental.

 

© 2025 John Moore

John’s, “Puns for Groan People” and two volumes about growing up in the South called, “Write of Passage,” are available at TheCountryWriter.com. John would like to hear from you at John@TheCountryWriter.com.