The Cat Has Made Some Resolutions 

Good morning. Well, good pre-dawn. Here, let me bat your face to help you wake up. That's probably as much as your weak human eyes will adjust to the dark but that's OK. We can talk while I press my full weight on your chest.

While you were out celebrating with what smells like the magnum of Cook's Brut you drank in front of the TV last year, I was here in quiet contemplation, except for the squawling of your stupid bird. I took a long hard look at my life and, beyond my glossy coat and my objectively perfect body, there was a lot I didn't like. So I've made some resolutions.

I am prioritizing eating better this year. We all indulged over the holidays with roasts and gravies and desserts and leftovers, and I don't see why we can't maintain that lifestyle. You seemed to enjoy passing me bits of ham from the table at first. In my defense, the meat of your thumb was similar in seasoning and texture, and in the salty blur of ham frenzy, a less restrained individual than myself might have kept going after hitting your watch.

In those nature shows you flip past on the way to the one about horrible plastic surgery mishaps, my brethren on the savanna are always stalking herds from the brush, taking zebras down by their haunches. I felt the same primal instinct as I sprang onto the kitchen counter and put my whole face in the butter dish. I heard and acknowledged your concerns about your "food and vet budget" after the unfortunate business with the kielbasa, but, as I said, I have resolved to prioritize my dietary needs. And I am a hunter. I will no longer suppress my own spiritual nature for your comfort. I am who I am and any dry food in my dish will be knocked under the refrigerator with the key to your bike lock. Yeah. That's where that went.

You need to consider how your choices are disrespecting me and my self-care. I will not abide another austere January waiting for your resolutions to crumble, counting the days until I can once again crawl on your napping form to harvest the trail of barbecue chip crumbs from your sweater or jam my head into what's left of a pint of gelato. We both know how this will end, so let's call it now before I accidentally eat something sugar free.

I'm also prioritizing my mental health and taking more time for me. You may notice that I've knocked everything off your desk to create a minimalist meditation space. From there, I can do a little breath work, look at my reflection in the window and keep an eye out for the goddamn squirrel. My plan is to take at least three of my 14 naps there a day. No matter what. Heads up: It looks like the water from the vase is pooling where your smashed laptop is still plugged in — seems dangerous.

Taking care of my mental health also means cutting toxic personalities out of my life. Like the stupid bird that's constantly ignoring my boundaries, which extend into the corner of its stupid cage where it wedges itself just out of my reach. I need individuals in my life who respect me and actively help me reach my goals, like climbing the bookshelf, launching myself onto the stupid hanging cage and eating the stupid bird. If I'm honest, sometimes it feels like you're not supporting me, either. Like when you violated my autonomy by prying me off the stupid cage.

This year I am going to give myself permission to ask for more from our relationship, which sometimes feels one-sided. It feels like I'm always coming to you, slapping at your bedroom doorknob in the wee hours. I'm always having to show you my belly when I want to be pet, then having to slash your forearm when I'm done. When was the last time you wound through my legs while I ran to answer the door? It's always me reaching out. Sometimes from under the sofa. With my claws. Have you ever brought me something mostly dead and left it twitching right where my feet land in the morning — not because it was a birthday or a holiday, but just because? I'll tell you: You have not.

But the new year is about fresh starts. And now that I've been clear about my needs and goals, I hope you can respect them and do better. Shhh. Let's not start with you talking over my feelings. Let's grab the gelato and see how that rhinoplasty repair went.

Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the arts and features editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400, extension 320, or [email protected]. Follow her on Instagram @JFumikoCahill.