So, here we are. December’s end, the tree twinkling, the faint scent of pine and holiday treats in the air, and—oh yes—Mom’s “end-of-year chat” with me. Every year, she sits me down like this, looking me in the eye with all her “New Year’s Resolutions” energy, and says something about how I’m going to be a “better cat” next year.
The nerve! Better? How could I possibly improve upon this?
I flick my tail casually as Mom starts her speech, which I half-listen to. She’s doing that serious face she reserves for big, non-negotiable announcements, like, “Gryzka, don’t claw the curtains,” or, “Gryzka, the tree is not a climbing post!” As if those rules weren’t made to be bent.
She sighs, brushing some stray tinsel out of my fur. "Gryzka, you’re a wonderful kitty, but maybe in the new year, we could…work on some things?”
I give her my best wide-eyed look. I’ve found it’s hard for humans to stay mad when I blink slowly and stretch my paws out in a luxurious pose. But Mom’s serious, so I might as well pretend to reflect on my so-called “mischiefs” of December, just to humor her.
Let’s see, where do I start?
First, there was that little incident with the holiday cards. Look, how could I know that the glitter was only for the cards? There it was, sitting in a shiny tube, practically begging me to swat it across the table. And once I started, well, the glitter just got everywhere—on the table, on Mom’s sweater, in the salad bowl, on the wall… It was my crowning achievement. Mom didn’t look as impressed as she should’ve been, though. She said something about “still finding glitter in her coffee.” Honestly, I think it’s festive.
Then there was the ribbon. Ooooh, the ribbon. All those spools of colorful ribbon, soft and crinkly, so utterly perfect for swatting! Mom insisted on wrapping presents with them, but I insisted they were playthings, and I mean, who has ever seen a ribbon left unattended without an invitation to shred it? If Mom didn’t want a pile of confetti, she shouldn’t have left it in my domain.
Then we come to the most sacred part of December: my spot under the tree. Now, I’ll admit, I might have rearranged a few of the ornaments. I thought they looked better scattered across the floor. Plus, each one of those shiny baubles makes the perfect temporary toy, until they break, of course. Mom looked down at the mess once or twice and just muttered, “Why, Gryzka?” and all I could think was, Why not?
But I know Mom wants her resolutions list, so here goes: “things to work on” for the new year. I sit up straighter, giving her a very sincere look, and start my version of a confession.
“Mom,” I say with a dramatic meow, “next year, I solemnly vow to…”
1. Respect the holiday cards. Not that they’re all that interesting without glitter, but I suppose I could try to keep my paws off them. Maybe. Unless you leave them really close to the edge of the table again—then all bets are off.
2. Be gentle with the ribbon. I’ll admit, tearing it into a hundred little pieces may have been a tad excessive. Maybe next time I’ll stick to only ninety pieces. Progress, right?
3. Only gently swat the ornaments. I can’t guarantee I won’t give them a little nudge now and then. It’s more of a quality control check than actual mischief. Those things dangle so temptingly! And who doesn’t love a good sparkle in their life?
4. Not steal all the tinsel. I can sense Mom is trying to get me to see that “tinsel is not food.” Maybe I’ll try to remember that next time, but it’s shiny and it crinkles, so I think that one’s a bit unreasonable.
5. Reconsider the curtains … I’m sorry, I can’t even finish this one with a straight face. If you want to see some real acrobatics, leave me alone with a set of dangling curtains.
Mom smiles, and for a second, I think she really believes I’m going to follow all of these resolutions. I let out a gentle purr, rubbing my head against her hand. Of course, this means I can’t let her down too hard. Not yet, anyway.
I hear her sigh, and she says, “You know what, Gryzka? You’re fine just the way you are.”
Ah-ha! The victory speech. I knew I’d get her. You see, Mom may pretend to want a “better cat,” but what she really wants is me. Sparkly, ornament-swatting, ribbon-shredding, tree-climbing me.
So here’s my real resolution for next year: I promise to keep things interesting, to be the absolute best at causing just a little bit of harmless chaos, and to keep Mom on her toes—just as she loves.
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