Celebrating Your Royalness

Readers of this blog know that Hippie Chick often provides the commentary and on occasion she allows JB to take over the keyboard. Now is one of those times.

The world lost a treasure last week when Prince Rogers Nelson exited. JB grew up with him; he shaped her formative years and she sang and danced and twirled to his royal purpleness. She felt alive and dangerous because Prince gave her a voice.

Prince was seductive, elusive, secretive, salacious, dangerous and all those forbidden, luscious words. It’s hard to come to terms with immortality. Waking up in a world where Prince – a man full of so much vigor – is nothing more than ashes, is sobering. I mean Prince – Mr. Purple Rain himself – is no more. All of his talent, all of his vivaciousness, simply gone.

If Prince had a spirit animal, that animal would certainly be a cat. Prince was the cattiest, coolest cat of them all. He was the grand lion of the feline kingdom and he reigned supreme.

Why was he catlike? Well, he slithered and pranced and teased and taunted on stage but he also owned himself. Prince never sold out or allowed the world to change who he knew he was inside. Just like a cat, he retained his independence while simultaneously taunting his followers, begging for their worship and praise, then retreating away in seclusion.

It’s widely known that nobody owns a cat. JB doesn’t own HC- HC simply allows JB to exist in her inner ciricle. Nobody owned Prince, he lived his own way, on his terms and allowed us to indulge in the exquisiteness of his immense talent whenever he felt like sharing.

Prince was the Hippiest of Chics – he set the bar high but I don’t expect many of us will ever jump that high except a few cats out there – cats like HC.

She owns her orange badassery just as Prince owned his royal purpleness.

Prince – you get the ultimate #rightfootup salute, you cool cat you.

Signed,

JB (Who is just allowed to hang with the very cool HC)

 

 

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Yeah, I am cloaked in Prince purple, can’t you tell?

 

 

 

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Shut Up, Shut Down and Take a Nap

I’ll let you in on a little secret. I am a pro at napping. Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, I can lay down a good nap whenever the urge hits. There’s nothing more important to me (except a full food bowl, of course) than getting in some snoring time.

We furs have no need to always be running around like humans. I do, from time to time, get in a few runs around the house after indulging in some catnip. But, that’s really on special days, when I’ve been exceptionally lazy and need to show JB that I’m still just as spry as the day she brought me home in that crate.

I arrived in the crate six years ago. JB doesn’t think I can keep track of time, but I know more than she thinks I do. I know when the seasons change, all furs do. We know our time is short here with our humans but we don’t worry about it like they do.

Humans worry about a lot. They worry about tomorrow, what happened yesterday, what didn’t happened today. Sometimes I wish I could leave with JB during the day, to see where she goes and what she does and maybe understand what keeps humans all wound up about stuff all the time.

I guess it’s best, though, that I stay in the house and take my naps. I don’t need that human stress because a cat’s life is short. That’s why we’re content to give into our needs -we love food, naps, and a little catnip here and there. That doesn’t mean we’re lazy and selfish, it means we’re smart, smarter than our humans.

JB doesn’t know it but I’m trying to set a good example for her. She really needs me to keep perfecting my napping skills. One day, I’m going to teach her how to nap the HC way, the right foot up way.

I think of napping as my gift to humans. Enjoy.

Signed,

The HC11140377_10206450622008047_8669406899064458385_n

Here I am, the best cat napper I know.

 

 

 

It’s Not Easy Being Orange

As a non-fur species, have you ever wanted to fade into your surroundings? Let me tell you, when you’re fat and orange and furry, you can’t hide anywhere. You’re too fat to get all the way under the bed. The couch downstairs doesn’t work either because of the pesky size issue.

JB doesn’t understand that sometimes I just want to be alone. I don’t want her to bother me. No petting, no scratching, no playing, no purring, just no touching.

Why do humans get a kick out of trying to touch a cat’s stomach? After all these years of being warned about the right places to pet a cat and there they go, everytime, right to the gullet.

I know my stomach is soft, and round and squishy but I am not the Pillsbury Doughboy! I don’t giggle when poked there.

It’s just not easy being HC sometimes. I’m low to the ground, can’t get up on the refrigerator or countertops anymore and the days of wandering around on the basement rafters are just fond memories of my skinnier youth.

Oh the things I used to be able to do. I’d jump up on the highest perches, posing regally like a great beast of the wild.

I’m not complaining though. I know I have it made. Three squares a day (okay, I’m not counting snacks), a nice bed to sleep in, plenty of toys, sunshine on the porch, birds to watch and water to drink.

But every so often I get that itch that just can’t be scratched. The itch to run away, break free and roam like the wild cat I once was.

I guess that’s why JB leaves me sometimes when she packs that suitcase; she has to scratch her itch.

No, it’s not easy being orange. I wasn’t born to blend in. I’m too much of a hip chick for that. Besides, there’s too much fire in my belly to ever want to anyway.

Signed,

The HC

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This couch just isn’t big enough sometimes.

I Don’t Perform on Cue

I’m exhausted; it’s been one heck of a week with JB. I didn’t know what was happening when the camera and lights showed up one morning but I caught on fast. The lady with the camera was nice and wanted to play with me and my favorite toys. I like company so it was fun having her here to play. But, seriously, did JB think I was just going to stick my foot up for a stranger?

I am not in the circus! I don’t perform on request.

I’ll admit, I knew exactly what I was doing when I teased the camera, stretched out on my right side. I yawned and moved my paw a bit, and even rolled over halfway. The right foot though, stayed down until the lady with the camera gave up and put it away. Then, I couldn’t resist. I had to stick my foot up when the camera turned off. Gotcha!

JB, you cannot get ahead of me. Remember, you said so yourself on camera…This is my show. You’re just along for the ride.

Where are we headed to next? Well, my guess is JB is trying to get me noticed by bigger cameras.

That’s okay as long as the camera has a WIDE lens. I’m not dieting now that I’m kinda a big deal. I’m quite comfortable in my own fur. After all, that’s what this whole right foot up life’s about, being comfortable with you are.

Who am I? If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m fat and orange and a cat. And, I couldn’t be happier.

The only thing that would make me purr louder is if my fans helped me share my mission.

We’re gonna take #rightfootup worldwide.

Now, in the meantime, I need my beauty rest. “Ellen” may call tomorrow.

Signed,

The HC

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If you need me, I’ll be right here. Fame may be fleeting but I’m ready for it.

The Next Garfield? Could It Be HC?

I just don’t know what to think. I mean, here I am, hanging out, going right foot up and chilling. Next thing you know,  I have more than a thousand people who want to know about me! Little old me! (Well, not so little, but…)

How did this happen? I have not a clue. I keep to myself, playing with my toys and Hello Kitty. I mean, I live a quiet life. I don’t like a lot of fuss. I don’t have time for that stress stuff that humans do.

But, you can’t just mind your own business living with JB. She documents everything I do with that phone camera. I get really annoyed sometimes; a fat cat can’t just take a litter box break without being followed!

Sigh. I guess it’s payback for all those times I’ve followed her everywhere, especially those times she’s almost tripped over me!

I feel something big is about to happen. I can’t be sure,  but I think people might be taking to my laid back lifestyle. It’s about time! Life’s too short to take it too seriously. You gotta let go, lay back and raise a right foot up. Take it as it comes. I keep telling JB that with my meows. I’ve been yelling this to her for years.

I think now she finally gets it. She finally understands. I’m so happy that JB is happy – even if it means I have to be in the spotlight for a bit.

It’s all worth it if my human is smiling.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be the next Garfield? All that fat cat did was eat lasagna.   I have my own style, the right foot up style. That’s way better than stuffing your face with cheese and tomato sauce.

Stay tuned because I think something is out there for me and JB. Something big. Bigger than my stomach.

Signed,

The HC

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Might not know it now, but baby I’m a star! (PS: If this fat cat can make a living stuffing his face with Italian food, I can do it by raising a foot!)

Rebel, Rebel…

I did it! I seized the moment when JB was asleep on the couch. I jumped on the table in the fancy room where sometimes she has people over to eat. I stretched out like I owned that table too. Now, you may be wondering why I don’t do that when JB’s not home?  Well, there’s no fun in doing it when she’s not here. It’s the sneaking around that gets my cat curiosity.

Call me a naughty feline, but I’m a good cat most of the time. A chick’s gotta let her tail down and live a little. So, I took the leap.

She didn’t know I was there for a long time either. When she woke up and stumbled to the kitchen, I waited for her to catch a glimpse of me but she just kept on walking by until she turned her head to do the laundry and bam! Caught!

Faster than I could say, “paws on my food bowl!” JB screamed and clapped her hands. I hate when she smacks her hands together. I jumped down and ran to safety underneath her bed, my heart racing.

Whoowee! That was the most fun I’ve had in my seven lives. (I keep forgetting to share how I’ve lost so many lives already).

Next challenge: I’ve got to figure out how to get into the laundry basket behind that shut door.

It’s good to be a rebel cat sometimes. It keeps JB (and me) sharp and on our paws.

Signed,

The “I Fight Authority” HC

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Just chilling, like the villain.

 

I Was Born In A Crossfire Hurricane…

How appropriate that my birthday is celebrated on February 29th. I have no clue how old I am. My birthday is celebrated on the one day that’s not a regular date on the calendar. Really, this isn’t even the date I was born. It’s just the day JB picked me up from that Wal-Mart parking lot on Highway 411.

Yes, it’s true, yours truly began her life as HC one day six years ago in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Oh, the indignity! All I know is I was living in terror of a tiny barking terror after my previous owners got a woofer (aka dog). I spent my time climbing the rafters, cabinets, whatever I had to scurry up to get away from that yapping tyrant.

Then, one day, I was loaded up in the car in my crate and JB appeared. And, the rest is history. She brought me to my home today (it was a looong ride and I screamed the whole way!) I didn’t know where I was when the crate was finally opened and I was terrified. I spent months roaming the rafters downstairs in her basement. JB would yell at me and threaten to send me back. She was so mad because I wouldn’t come down from the insulation in the ceiling. What she didn’t know was how scared I was – I didn’t trust anyone or anything and I sure had no clue where I was.

Over time, though, I understood that JB was my new human and she loved me. She fed me, talked to me, gave me more love than I had ever known in my whole life. She made up for a whole lot of bad (including that stint living with my siblings under a trailer and rooming in the shelter where rats were bigger than me!)

I owe a lot to JB. She would never see it that way, though. She’d tell you how much she owes to me. Let’s just say we owe each other.

I don’t know where this whole “Right Foot Up Deal” is going but I’m glad I get to  ride the wave with JB.

There’s no place else I’d rather be. We’re a purrfect pair.

So, happy birthday to me! (Let’s say I’m finally a teenager and leave it at that, okay?)

Signed.

The HC

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You ‘Like’ Me! You Really ‘Like’ Me!

JB’s been in a whirl this week, telling me how popular I am. All I know is that every time I raise my right foot up, hop in my bed, grab a snack, take a nap or visit the litter box, there she is taking my picture with that phone she’s always carrying around. (Ok, I embellished a bit. She has not taken a photo of me in the litter box – YET! I suspect that’s next).

What’s a cat gotta do to get some privacy around this house?

JB told me that more than 500 humans out there in computer land are following my pictures and what she calls my “adventures.” I don’t know why she calls my life an “adventure.” The only time I leave the house is to get hauled off in a crate to see the person in the white coat who scares the whiskers off of me by poking around, listening to my heart, squeezing my stomach and shoving something that feels like a needle in my nether region. JB says the visit to the white coat human keeps me healthy. If that’s so, then why do I leave there scared out of my fur coat?? There’s a good reason we cats have trust issues. We’ve been tricked into seeing the white coat human too many times!

I guess I need to trust JB that she knows what she’s doing when she shares all those photos of me with you, my “fans,” as she calls you.

I should say thank you here to all you humans who like to read about me. But, I’m a cat, after all, and we cats aren’t much into giving thanks. Instead, we like to show our appreciation by giving humans the occasional dead mouse or coughed up hair ball.

Since I can’t give all of you a personal dead mouse delivery, you’ll just have to make do with this personal note.

JB should be thankful that I haven’t figured out how to use that camera yet. When I do, there’s going to be a nice photo shared of her in her own litter box. That’s another thing she’s probably forgotten – we cats know a thing or two about revenge.

Paws on my food bowl – I’m famous!

Signed,

The HC (yes, a famous cat like me requires a THE)

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I always knew I was destined for greatness among my litter.

 

 

The Fine Line

What a weekend. JB was riding on a high from the introduction of my logo. I, of course, acted like I could care less. But, I kept wondering how many humans were seeing it. I mean, maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally, finally be a Kardashian Kat! (Shh! JB doesn’t want anyone to know, but she watches that silly show sometimes. She knows how to “Keep Up With” them…and unfortunately, by virtue of being in the same room, so do I.)

All was going great until JB got a phone call.

I think she got some bad news. I’m not sure, but she seemed distressed. Whatever she was told in that call, made her very sad.

I think somebody died. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but I know it makes humans sad.

She didn’t talk to me much about it. She just went to bed right after that phone call, and I just tried to keep purring beside her. I think that calms her down some.

I listened to her today while she was talking (she doesn’t think I know what she’s saying, but when I want to listen, I do) and I understood. Someone she cared about decided it was time to leave, as in leave for good.

So they left, on their own terms.

It’s not the first time someone has left this way that she cares about. The last time, she cried for a long time.

I wish I could tell her what I see…that there’s a fine line between here and there and sometimes you just can’t stay here any longer because being there is where you want to be. So you go.

As a cat, I know these things because I’m kinda on both sides – the there and here. See, I’ve got wings, really. They’re invisible here but when I return to there, they’ll go with me and everybody can see them.

Humans talk about angels; believing and feeling their presence. I wish they’d understand my meows because I tell them every day to just look, look at me! I’m one of them.

RIP Cousin Floyd. You’ve got your wings now too.

Signed,

The HC

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Floyd, who passed away Saturday, February 20, with his 102 aunt, my Grandma, chatting on her birthday in January. He brought her a cabbage head, fresh from his garden. Rare for January, just like him.