There is more than one way to tell the truth. Consider how you talk about your personal physique.
You could tell people, “I resemble a potato with limbs.”
Or, you might say, “I’m a tater.”
One story makes you embarrassed.
The other (accurately) admits you’re adorable.
Chip is here to help you choose wisely.
Chip already believes that you are adorable, and that is the end of the matter.
The first time Chip met you, Chip decided you are a masterpiece of a mammal. You are here, and Chip is here, and if that’s not irrefutable proof that you’re both spectacular, then what is science even for?
For this reason, Chip is shame-repellant. If you walk into Chip’s suite feeling janky about your jowls, your poetry, or your tattoo of Steve Buscemi, Chip will fry your embarrassment to a crisp.
You will not get a chance to tell him that you accidentally called your boss “Mom” this morning. Chip is already telling you that life is a delicatessen, and everyone is a little pickled, and everything is hilarious most of the time, and also, you are cuter than a butterbean.
Do not insist that you have reason to be bashful. Chip will leap onto your adorable shoulder and laugh out loud for ten full minutes that he is a literal Chip on your shoulder.
Chip will then remind you that he has more reason than you to be bashful, at least in the eyes of “reasonable people.” Fortunately, there are none of those on the premises.
Chip came to Tabby’s Place because he had a rectal stricture, a narrowing of the rectum that causes all manner of gastrointestinal festivities. The word “gastrointestinal” makes some folks blush faster than you can say “queso fundido.”
But Chip is not embarrassed.
Why would anyone be embarrassed when they can be emboldened?
Chip asks you this question as he snuggles so close, it is hard to tell where you end and Chip begins. Chip’s rectal stricture is nothing more than a diagnosis. Chip has “complications.” You have “complications.” What matters is how you tell the tale.
And Chip is sticking to his story, where comedy crumbles tragedy, and everything salty will finally turn sweet.
If you ask Chip where he learned all this wisdom, he won’t answer. He will only rub his face into your face, as though attempting to shellac you with a sheen of gladness. 
But dip a little deeper, and you may be surprised.
Chip has traveled the sharp ridges of sorrow. His beloved sibling died at just thirteen days of age, perhaps from a birth defect similar to Chip’s own. Then, Chip ended up in a rescue organization that tragically devolved into a hoarding situation.
It is too much vinegar for one young life.
It is enough to make even a potato’s eyes fill with tears.
But there are no cracks in Chip’s good cheer. He is pickled in possibility. As he burbles purry parables into the crook of your neck, you may find that your own story tastes different.
Maybe all the “awful” is just appetizers.
The events that could have broken Chip instead brought him to Tabby’s Place. He is not about to feel bad about one smidgen of the story that led to today.
Because today, Chip is here, with you.
Chip has “complications.” You have “complications.” You are both in need of patience, and (if Chip may make one more suggestion) a few “I love yous,” written in squeeze-cheese.
So, listen to the cat who has never made the wrong choice.
You, sweet tater, are adorable.