Two minutes into the new year, things were going well for Mr. Sandwiches, a 10-year-old gray-and-white long-haired cat from Fresno, California. He hadn’t broken a single resolution on the list he had painstaking assembled in the months leading up to 2016. He had high hopes.
And then he tipped over the dog’s water bowl.
“Technically, I didn’t break that one,” Mr. Sandwiches said the next day, by way of defense. “I actually just slid the bowl with my paw across the kitchen floor for about 10 feet, for reasons I can’t quite recall anymore. I’m sure it was important at the time.”
Nonetheless, all of the water went out of bowl onto the floor, effectively breaking the spirit of the resolution.
“I also forgot that was even a resolution,” continued Mr. Sandwiches.
It hardly mattered, for Mr. Sandwiches had then immediately walked over to the rug and puked on it.
“That was resolution No. 2,” he said. “One of those pie-in-sky ones, frankly, that no one can be expected to keep. Like doing Crossfit or flossing every night. Those hardly count.”
The question of whether refraining from puking on a rug is a “pie-in-the-sky” resolution — the rug is only 2-by-3 and sits in a sea of easy-to-clean hardwood floors — can be left for some other time, because Mr. Sandwiches then marched over to the new couch — a Christmas gift his owner, Karl, gave to himself — and began clawing it, destroying resolution No. 3 and basically the whole couch in as many minutes.
“I don’t know what got into me,” he said. “Well, I guess what got into me is what always gets into me.”
“It’s leather,” he added in a low voice. “Do you know what it feels like to tear into leather?”
At that point, it appears Mr. Sandwiches just gave up, breaking a number of resolutions in a four-minute blitz.
“I don’t remember much of that,” he said. “I had the crazy eyes. My tail was all boofed out. Basically I blacked out and did what I do. I mean, I’m a cat.”
That included breaking resolutions No. 4 (not climbing up the curtains), No. 6 (not dragging an open bag of flour around the living room), No. 7 (not knocking knickknacks on the bookshelf to the floor), and No. 8 (not tipping plants).
Finally, he was down to his last resolution. Sitting in front of his owner Karl’s closed bedroom door, Mr. Sandwiches thought about all he had done in the past 10 minutes and decided he had no other options.
“By that point, I was pretty thirsty,” he admitted. “Water from a bowl wasn’t going to cut it. I needed a stream. And, as you know, cats can’t turn on faucets …”
And so he broke his last resolution, beginning a steady, rhythmic meowing — meow, meow, meow — just loud enough to slowly draw someone out of a deep, restful sleep and bring him fully awake at 12:11 a.m.
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