Resolutions

by Tim Sitterley

‘Tis the time of year for resolutions. A new beginning. Exercise more. Lose weight. Take a class.

Whatever your New Year’s Resolution may be, I wish you luck. You are probably going to need it. The best I can do is remind you of the scripture that states that you can do all things through Christ Jesus, who strengthens you. So instead of writing some pithy missive, I thought I would let you in on something you might not know…

…your cat’s
New Year’s Resolutions.

My human will never let me eat their pet hamster, and I am at peace with that.

I will not slurp fish food from the surface of the aquarium.

I will not eat large numbers of assorted bugs, then come home and throw them up so the humans can see that I’m getting plenty of roughage.

I will not lean way over to drink out of the tub, fall in, and then dash right for the box of clumping cat litter. (It took FOREVER to get the stuff out of my fur last time.)

I will not use the bathtub to store live mice for late-night snacks.

We will not play “Herd of Thundering Wildebeests Stampeding Across the Plains of the Serengeti” over any humans’ bed while they’re trying to sleep.

I cannot leap through closed windows to catch birds outside. If I forget this and bonk my head on the window and fall behind the couch in my attempt, I will not get up and do the same thing again.

I will not assume the patio door is open when I race outside to chase leaves.

I will not stick my paw into any container to see if there is something in it. If I do, I will not hiss and scratch when my human has to shave me to get the rubber cement out of my fur.

If I bite the cactus, it will bite back.

When it rains, it will be raining on all sides of the house. It is not necessary to check every door.

I will not play “dead cat on the stairs” while people are trying to bring in groceries or laundry, or else one of these days, it will really come true.

When the humans play darts, I will not leap into the air and attempt to catch them.

When my human is typing at the computer, their forearms are *not* a hammock.

Computer and TV screens do not exist to backlight my lovely tail.

I will not puff my entire body to twice its size, stand on the bathroom counter, stare down the hall, and growl at NOTHING after my human has watched a horror movie.

I will not perch on my human’s chest in the middle of the night and stare until they wake up.

I will not walk on the computer key board when my human is writing important adagfsggdjaaoi’pikn;eipig;nn/pojennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnnn