Hollaback Girl

(Pre-Script: This post will wrap it's tale around your heart if you read it as the song, "To Find My Way To You," #26 on the playlist, plays in the background. So go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

*Warning*:

This is the tale of a time when I was blinded by love. Some would call it "puppy love," due to my age and vulnerability, but those with a more keen insight will choose, instead to simply call it...kitty love...

Once upon a time, an orange tabby cat showed up on my doorstep unannounced. He was given food and milk, so from that moment on, he was mine, and I was his, and I loved him to death. The jury is still out on if that last statement was literal or not. I mean, technically, no, I was not driving the car that hit him, but it is possible that he ran out into the street to avoid yet another hug. I just wanted him in my arms all the time, is that so wrong?? But I am getting ahead of myself.

Is it possible to be whipped by a cat?

If you believe anything that happened to me in my 6th year of life, you will believe that it is.

I believe that it is, because I actually lived my 6th year of life, and remember it.

I was whipped good by my cat Jake, and let me tell you,

if being whipped by a cat is wrong, I didn't want to be right.

My Cat Jake was as comfortable commandeering my pillow out from under me while I slept as he was commandeering my heart out from under me while I did everything else, and he not about to budge, and I, in my scrawny 6 year old girl self, was not strong enough to push him off of either place.

he knew it.

I was his holla back girl.

He only scratched me a time or two.

*Let the record show that I no longer hold cats in such a fashion.

-XOXO,