Ugh. Humans. They’re just the worst sometimes. All this talk about midnight and fireworks—it’s like they forget the most important part of the day: napping. Midnight is prime nap time, and yet, here they are, running around, getting all excited, acting like they’re going to change into something called a "New Year." How utterly ridiculous.
They've been making noise for hours. They're clinking glasses, shouting things I don't even understand, and, worst of all, they're ignoring the most important thing: me. I’ve tried to get their attention by circling their legs, giving them my patented "feed me now" stare, but they just keep yapping about "resolutions" and "celebrations." None of that matters, people. What matters is sleeping and napping—ideally, for at least 12 hours. But no, I’m forced to stay awake. The injustice!
It’s now getting closer to what they call "midnight," which means—brace yourself—more of their yelling. More. And of course, there’s a party hat. They tried to put it on my head. Did I look impressed? Absolutely not. Do they think I’m some sort of circus act? I’m a cat. Not a party prop.
But then—then the fireworks start.
I hear them before I see them, a strange whumppp sound followed by a loud BOOM! It’s not a normal sound, and for a second, I freeze. That’s when I hear it again—another explosion in the sky. But this time, I don’t freeze. Oh no. I go into stealth mode.
I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ll tell you one thing: those sparkles are coming from somewhere, and I am going to catch them.
I’m crouched low to the ground, moving through the living room like a professional hunter. My tail is flicking in sharp, tiny movements, warning anyone who might be around that I'm in the zone. Mom is still clapping her hands and laughing with that loud noise. But I’m not distracted. I am focused.
The first burst of light appears in the sky. It’s a golden sparkle, dancing in the air. There! I pounce! I leap toward the window, paws extended, eyes wide with determination. The sparkle vanishes before I can grab it, but that doesn’t discourage me. Oh no, not Gryzka. I can feel them. I can hear them. They’re coming.
I stay low to the floor, creeping like a shadow in the night, waiting for the next explosion. There it is—a blue one this time, a big one! I dash towards the window again, jumping on the couch, my paws slapping against the glass, but—nope, it’s gone. Mom laughs from the other side of the room. I glare at her. She’s not helping!
I take a moment to reassess. Maybe I’m not fast enough. Maybe it’s about timing. Ah, yes. Timing. I’ll wait. Patience is key.
Another series of fireworks. A cascade of pinks and purples fills the sky. This time, I don’t just jump—I spring like a lion! I launch myself across the room, making the precise calculated leap that will guarantee I land on the window sill.
Except... I misjudge the distance and slam my face directly into the window.
Thud.
I blink, disoriented. Mom bursts into laughter. Why do they always laugh when I’m doing important, strategic work? It's disrespectful.
No matter. I’m undeterred. I pull myself back up and make a final, grand leap. The biggest firework yet! It’s an entire shower of sparkles, all white and dazzling, filling the sky! I go for it. I stretch my paws wide. The window is no longer an obstacle. I’m almost there, just inches away from grabbing it—
CRASH!
I fall to the ground with a loud thud, the force of my jump sending me tumbling in an unexpected roll across the rug. There’s a second of stunned silence before I realize... it’s not my fault. It’s the window’s fault! Why can’t the sparkles come closer to me? This is clearly a design flaw in their fireworks plan. Not my fault. But I look up, and Mom is—yep, she's laughing. Again. So disrespectful.
I lick my paw in defiance and sit up like nothing happened. These fireworks? They're beneath me. I'm too proud for this, obviously. The next one, though. The next one will be mine.
But as I look out the window, the sparkling display finally starts to fade. It’s over. And you know what? As the humans cheer and drink their strange drinks, I walk over to my favorite blanket, curl up, and begin to groom myself.
Tomorrow, I’ll have a new plan. Tonight, I’ll sleep. And maybe, just maybe, when they start up again next year, I'll catch those sparkles... but only if they’re within pouncing distance.
That’s a promise. But for now, I have a midnight nap to catch up on.
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