Morris the kitty

New Year’s Resolutions from My Cat

I recently snapped a photo of my orange tabby critter sitting uncannily above my “Dear Santa, I can explain” Christmas decoration sign my sister gifted me years ago and got to thinking about what a cat’s new year’s resolutions might be. In particular, my feline Morris who is featured along with my dog Bodie in my Other Worldly novels as themselves.

It went something like this in my head, or what I imagined to be in his feisty feline head:

I heard that person say she’s not big on new year’s resolutions, but thought that I should entertain some, given she’s been startled silly by the mini tree on the table in the foyer getting knocked over three times.

She was startled? How about when she yelled? How does she think that made me and the wimpy dog feel? Hm? What about us? Could she maybe resolve not to yell more in the new year?

And don’t tell her, but it kind of wigged me out too, given the prickly thing plunges to the floor, sparkly dangling bits scattering on the tile and making all kinds of jarring noises—not to mention almost landing on my tail. When all I wanted was the shiny ones. And maybe that one that looked like it has feathers. It mysteriously disappeared after the tree somehow knocked itself over the first time.

And then the angst over that one that looks like a hummingbird. It didn’t look so great after smashing into several pieces, and it wasn’t even really a bird. She got all in a tither and was sniffling, trying to put it back together and then she yelled some more because her fingers got stuck by something called superb glue, I think it was, and screeched louder when I hopped on the counter to investigate. Something about my fur sticking to everything. But hey, at least it’s not as long as her hair.

I like to gnaw on her hair in the mornings to get her to wake up and feed me breakfast because I don’t think I should have to wait until the sun actually comes up, no matter what she says. The dog agrees with me, but he acts all cute so that she will only blame me for waking her. You’d think she’d freaking wake up at the sound of him shaking his silly self with all the rattling from tags on his collar. What’s up with that?

Except sometimes he is useful and licks my ears clean, until I have to bat at him to make him stop. He just never knows when to quit with that tongue, and then he gets a little pushy and starts rooting around in other places and my claws have to come out. Then the pitiful squealing starts, and she yells at me again.

So maybe it’s the dog who should have some new year’s resolutions about knowing when to quit. And not chasing me around the house, all full of himself because he’s being taken out beyond for something called a walk in the morning.

I don’t know where they go, but it’s my job to wait for them at the front door when they return, which is perhaps why that person should not have put a mini tree on the table by the door in the first place. The whole thing mysteriously disappeared this week while I was having a nice nap in the warmth by the window. So did the big tree, which by the way I deserve a little credit for leaving alone after the first week or so it appeared in the cozy carpeted room where I sun myself.

I hope she is not going to blame me for the disappearance of the trees because I have no resolutions about that. The dog is sporting his insipid guilty googly-eyed look so maybe it was him. Did she ever think about that possibility while she’s tasking me with coming up with resolutions?

Maybe the new year’s resolution in this house should be that the mini tree goes somewhere else next time. And perhaps slip me a tad more food when it’s called for. Like, when I’m extra hungry. Working on figuring out these tiresome new year’s resolutions for my person has me famished.

But I do like that yummy smelling little cloth thing she got me. More of those in the new year would be good too, but less of the squeaky thing she got the dog.

Also, I suggest in the new year that nobody suddenly try to tell us the time has changed, and dinnertime will somehow be later than it was the day before. Me and the dog aren’t buying it, and humans really are silly to think they can put one over on us, because we know what time it is.

And enough with the loud noises around here. The other night it sounded like the flipping Fourth of July and the dog was in the closet and I went under the bed, and I think humans should just quit with making every holiday sound like we’re under missile attack and living in a freaking war zone.

Sheesh. You’d think they’d be smarter than that.

Here’s a new year’s resolution flash for humans from a feline: Quit with the booming sounds for hours on end that rock the house and rattle me and the dog. Because it’s killing my appetite and it frazzles our person, too. We could all have a much happier new year if that happened.

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