Eggs the Calico Tabby Cat

I bought my first Starbuck's iced coffee for an extra kick as I drove to the hospital Wednesday. I loved the coffee but not the reason for my trip. My daughter-in-law's mother had just been placed in ICU after a minor surgery turned major a few days earlier.

By the time I drove home after hanging out with Sam and Courtney in the ICU waiting room all afternoon, Gloria's kidney's had started working again. But only after several long hours left doctors and family guessing. 

Over lunch the next day, I rehearsed the ordeal with a friend whose husband died just under a year ago. She listened patiently but eventually blurted, "Tell me more about your stray cat. I want to talk about something fun. In fact, why haven't you blogged about... Eggs?"

Then she giggled and mocked the name, forcing me to defend my honor. Because our formerly homeless cat is slowly becoming a part of the family. Even if her name is Eggs.

As a stray, Eggs cried so loud outside Nathan's apartment door three weeks ago, I thought someone was impersonating a cat. But Nathan explained she'd been hanging around the first floor landing, crying at night for at least a week.

A frayed, pink collar indicated she belonged to someone at some point. But her loud cries made it obvious those days were past.

Enthralled by the hungry and skittish creature, I remembered the chicken salad I left in the car and hurried to pick out meaty morsels. But even as I set the bowl on the floor, I questioned my resolve. To be frank, I don't really like cats. I'm a dog person.

I have a deep down love for this dog. And this dog only. My mother's King Charles Cavalier stole my heart a long time ago and makes me wish for a Lilly of my own.

But Cavalier King Charles pups are too expensive for my budget, and ironically, after the stray kitty munched the bowl of chicken, she wandered the room in such a way that I finally stated, "She's kind of like a dog." 

She twirled around our legs, jumped from the sofa to the floor and then back again, meowed in a pathetic way that twirled my heart, and gazed with intelligence through her very large eyes.

She hung out while Nathan, Sam, Courtney, and I watched The Boxtrolls. As odd little animated boxed men collected shiny things in the dark and fought off the red hatted, highly lactose intolerant bad guy, the stray kitty charmed me. And I couldn't leave her homeless.

Food lured her into my car and right before I drove away, I looked out my cracked window and told the gang, "I think I'll call her Eggs." Watch below.




I left her in my basement overnight and couldn't find her the next day... and blamed Don, thinking he left the garage door open too long, allowing her to run away. 

I. Was. Very. Wrong.

Eggs came out from hiding five days later, only hours before we left on vacation. Food, water, and kitty litter got her through the week in our absence. And two days after we got home, she came out from hiding again. 

Don and I enjoyed a morning date to the vet just last week. He claims that he didn't realize how embarrassing the name was until they called her name and he had to stand up in front of a room full of pet owners. But after introducing his former cat as "Killer" to numerous students throughout the last nine years, I feel no pity. 

Her name captures the essence of the evening I fell prey to a stray - an eight month old, female, calico, tabby stray.
 

We had a week to bond before Lilly came for a visit. When the puppy appeared, Eggs hid in the basement for several more days. But just this morning  she spent a few hours in the same room as the dog. They aren't quite friends yet, but I hold out hope.

For after learning Eggs is a tabby cat, I googled the term and read, "Some say that tabby cat personalities are distinct from other cats in the sense that they are more like the personalities of dogs."

I knew it.

I like dogs. Don likes cats. And Eggs brings a touch of both. 

Let's just say, we're definitely getting somewhere!