Every January, the humans in this apartment write down a list of things they swear they will do differently and then abandon by February. I have been watching this ritual from the windowsill for years, and this year I have decided to participate. I contain multitudes. I have ambitions. What follows is my list, dictated to the large one while she pretended to work.
A quick note before we begin: I am aware that most of these will not happen. Self-awareness is my first resolution, and I am already crushing it.
The resolutions
Try at least one food I don’t like, and try even harder not to throw it up on the rug. Growth is uncomfortable. So is the rug, apparently, at 4 a.m.
Finally say hello to that tomcat in the garden. He has been sitting on the same fence for two years. I have been screaming at him through glass for two years. This is the year we connect.
Pee in the shower less. I make no promises here. The shower is cool, private, and dramatically lit. But I hear it upsets people, so I will try to want to try.
Keep up my gratitude practice. I am grateful for the sunbeam that moves across the floor. I am grateful for the crinkly bag. I am grateful that no one has discovered where I hide the bottle caps.
Groom like no one is watching. Someone is always watching. I have made peace with this. I contort anyway.
Conquer my fear of water. See resolution about the shower. My relationship with water is complicated and I would prefer not to discuss it further.
Finish writing my book. The working title is The Year of Magical Blinking. It is about a cat who learns that slow-blinking at the ones she loves is its own kind of language. It is going to make people cry. It is currently zero words long.
Get braver about sudden loud noises. The blender remains my nemesis. But I would like to one day hear it and merely flick an ear instead of relocating to a different zip code.
Let myself trust the humans with my belly. Not all the way. That would be reckless. But maybe a three-second window before the teeth come out.
Clean up after myself when I knock everything off a high ledge. I will not be doing this. I include it only to seem reasonable.
Really get to know myself. Explore what I want, instead of only fulfilling everyone else’s expectations of when I should be fed. (Answer, so far: I want to be fed.)
Catch the red dot, once and for all. This is the year. I can feel it. The dot and I both know it cannot run forever.
In closing
That is the list. It is aspirational, and I am at peace with the fact that most of it will dissolve the moment a warm patch of sun appears. Resolutions are really just a way of telling the people you love what you value, and what I value is this: naps, the tomcat, the dot, and the two humans who read my list out loud and laughed instead of getting up to refill the bowl. Priorities. I will work on those next year.
