Intentions Are for Suckers (and Possibly Dogs)

The Radical Wisdom of Cats

First, a confession:

This post was delayed as I was waiting for the cats of Alchemy of Meow, a.k.a., The Fulsome Foursome, to reach a verdict on my simple request for their official statement about New Year’s Resolution.

Upon hearing that they were to make at least one goal for self-improvement in 2026, they convened an emergency meeting to schedule further meetings to determine their course of action, if any. Said meetings were punctuated by naps, meals, hisses, growls, nose touches, occasional sniffing of certain body parts I will refrain from mentioning, and more naps.

Newbery, the eldest and first to join the household, summed up the situation thus:

“Mum-staff has gone psychotic!”

Callie (interjecting): “Again?”

Nebula: “I thought I’d treated her for that condition.”

Hugo: “She just needs me to bunt her a few times.”

Newbery: “No, this is serious. She’s laying down the law. What happened is that in the wee small hours of the night when she was trying to play a soothing sleep track to soothe her back to sleep, the app she was using popped up with a demand for her to select a New Year’s resolution for herself and to choose the appropriate background color and motif. And she ended up even wider awake than before. When she got out of bed, a wild idea struck her that everyone in the household—that’s us—needed to set a New Year’s resolution.

After much trial and error, mutual accusations, and midnight pantry raids, they each came up with a statement, stamped with their own paw print.

Newbery the worrier-warrior and gratitude queen (having somehow embedded a soft growl in the memo):

Listen, this is your eldest, Newbery. I was the first one to show up for the household. John picked me because I whacked him on the cheek. Not everyone can claim my cattitude. Unlike the others, I chose this family. It was my decision. This makes me special.

I don’t know where Mum-staff gets off on thinking that we can—or need to—change anything overnight because of an arbitrary Gregorian calendar tick. I am already perfect. My fur is shiny. My claws are sharp. I already defend my territory even when it’s not my territory.

My resolution? If you want a resolution, I’ll give you this: I will shred all furniture. I will growl at every cat who makes the wrong move near me. And all moves are wrong.

Hugo the Diplocat and Sommelier of Soft Surfaces:

Ignore Newbery. She’s a softie at heart. Which just happens to be covered up in furballs.

My addendum is this: I love you. I love the whole world.

You’re not at fault. You’re just underslept. You could use more naps in the sunbeam. That should be your resolution. Not the silliness about staying pawsitive the entire 2026. I don’t care if you have a resolution or not. Unless it includes more cheek rubs and sunshine access. I’m chill either way. Personally, I think your goals would be more achievable if you started each day by bunting me. It’s scientifically proven to stabilize your nervous system. So, here’s a bunt for you. And another one. And another one. And one more. And please get dad-staff to clean the litter boxes right now so I can roll around like I’m at the beach.

Nebula the Cosmic Queen and Time Bender:

There, there, it’s o-kay. Nebula is here. Everything is fine. You just had a bad dream. All this talk about New year, New me, is highly delusional. I am the New Year. I invented personal transformation. I don’t do vision boards. I am the vision. My intention for year 2026 is to continue my high-velocity parkour performances and vocal practice for my operatic arias.

Therefore: no resolutions.

And I see that Callie has dared to continue to exist while also slacking off so I must take corrective measures by clouting him on the head and face repeatedly, after which I’ll hold him in a headlock and give him a meow-lashing.

Callie the gender-fluid Movement Minimalist: (somehow managing to insert yawns into the memo, as well as a soulful gaze):

Is it time to eat? No? Then I need to get back to sleep so I can be sure to get my minimum quota of 23.4 hours of sleep, which is no small feat.

What? When did it become New Year’s? Did you say you resolved to feed us more often? Like, maybe every hour? No? I really must lie back down. This is serious work. I’m performing an essential role in the cosmos: energy conservation.

Final Motion: Veto passed.

The Alchemy of Meow Council has unanimously agreed that all New Year’s resolutions shall be batted under the couch and forgotten. Instead, we propose the following guiding principles:

Eat when you’re hungry.

Sleep when you’re tired (or, if you’re Callie, sleep as an extreme sport).

Pounce when inspired.

Scratch when itchy.

Ignore all calendars.

Cats do not resolve, optimize, perform, or reinvent. There is nothing to improve. We exist. For us, there is no “before” or “after.” We simply wake up, stretch, and remain sovereign. We remain cat.

Purring in solidarity,

The Fearsome Foursome

From the Desk of the Cosmic Cat Council

We shall now resume our regularly scheduled loafing.