Blame it on the egg nog, or the twinkling lights, or too many Hallmark movies.

Actually, you can blame it on Pippa, a Findlay, Ohio cat who went missing in October from a truck parked at a distribution center and who was the subject of a recent story in the local newspaper. After reading the story in the town in which I now live, it immediately triggered memories of a somewhat similar story for me.

You see, today’s column is really an old-fashioned love story that centers around Aspen, a beautiful, long-haired gray cat that grew up with my wife and I in the first years of our marriage. But, unlike Pippa’s story, which still is being written, the story of Aspen has a happy ending.

After all, it is a love story.

Diane and I were headed off to a wonderful vacation in the sun, but we needed someone to look after our cat. A coworker offered to watch him, so long as we brought the cat and his possessions to her apartment, which we did.

During the week away, at least once a day my wife would wonder how Aspen was doing. I always assured her I was sure he was doing fine.

Oh, silly me.

As the vacation drew to a close and our drive back home grew nearer, our anticipation grew at seeing and holding Aspen again. We wondered how his week away had been, whether he would be glad to see us, and what details our coworker would have from the week.

Little did we know.

We pulled up to the apartment and the coworker and her boyfriend were sitting on the porch. I should have known something was wrong when Diane walked over to where they were seated and asked about Aspen and all she heard in return was, “Well …”

It turns out that, on day four of our vacation, the boyfriend thought that, since there was a hot spell in Wheeling, West Virginia, the cat, his girlfriend, and he should take a drive around Wheeling Island to cool down.

Naturally, the windows of the car were down. Naturally, Aspen — who didn’t take to strangers well, anyway — was looking for a way to escape.

And, like that, about three blocks into the drive, Aspen dug his nails into our cocorker, jumped onto her shoulder and then out the window. The two looked (or so they said), but could not find Aspen anywhere.

Needless to say, we were devastated. The tears flowed. It was a terrible ending to an otherwise enjoyable vacation that, at that moment, seemed 100 years ago.

We drove home in silence. Monday came, and it was pretty bleak at work. Every task seemed to take longer than usual to complete.

Before leaving for the day, I designed a quick poster of Aspen that included a photo of him. It said the cat was missing, offered a reward, and listed my phone number. After work, I drove over to the island, nailed the posters to every utility pole I came across, and walked through some neighborhoods in search of the cat.

And I did that Tuesday. And I did that Wednesday. And I did that Thursday.

It was on Thursday during my walk that I heard two boys about five houses down the block say, “I think that’s the one … There it is.”

It was the first ray of hope thus far in the week, but I wondered if I wasn’t grasping at straws. I walked over to the boys and asked them what they were looking for. They shared they thought they found the cat whose photo was on the wanted posters on the island. They pointed to a spot under a front porch, and, sure enough, Aspen could be seen cowering in the corner. After a little coaxing and the fact I carried kitty treats on me, Aspen was soon in my arms.

Both boys got paid handsomely that evening. I hope they spent their newfound riches wisely.

And, when I got home with Aspen in tow, I was rewarded handsomely, as well, by the smile on Diane’s face.

It was a Hallmark moment, for sure.

Unfortunately, not all stories have a happy ending. Pippa’s story is a case in point, at least for the moment.

But we shouldn’t give up hope.

Sometimes — yes, sometimes — good endings still exist.

Bill Speer retired in 2021 as the publisher and editor of The News. He can be reached at bspeer@thealpenanews.com.