Mike’s hens are a’layin’, and a dozen eggs a day sounds lovely and convenient, until you think further and realize it means a dozen eggs one day and another dozen eggs the next day and… that’s eighty four eggs a week. Fortunately, eggs are a popular item around here.
Eli saunters in each morning and demands an egg. His meow is quite clear: “EGG! NOW! please??” Once he sees me heading to the fridge, he begins purring, and sits on command for me as I crack an egg into his little dish. Once I gave him three eggs in a row just to see if he could eat that many and he still wanted more.
Charlie does not demand eggs like Eli does, but when I bring them out, he gets so excited and immediately sits, then goes right into his “fancy sit,” which is like an extreme sit, back on one hip, which he does when he reeeeeallllly wants something. He also does it on command, and I am endlessly entertained by asking Charlie to “sit” and he sits, and then saying “fancy sit” and watching him rock back into the extreme sit. Cheap thrills around here.
Anyway, Charlie loves eggs, and like Eli, who knows how many he would eat if given the opportunity. The most he’s had is five in a row. That seems a bit excessive, but he still was hoping for more. Other than that splurge, he gets two eggs.
Chloe didn’t dive into the raw egg breakfast bowl like Charlie did; she sniffed it and acted like she was interested, but didn’t like the consistency of raw egg white. She kept trying to only lick up the yolk, but that proved too difficult so she gave up and left her egg for Charlie. (This is why Charlie got five eggs in a row that time; he ate his and Chloe’s, twice). I wanted Chloe to enjoy an egg, so I cracked another in her bowl and whipped it up with a fork. THAT she loved.
The next day, when I cracked an egg into Charlie’s bowl and whipped an egg in Chloe’s, and set them both down, Charlie sniffed around his bowl, disinterested for the first time when an egg was involved, then sat and looked at me like, “stir mine, too, or I won’t eat it.” These animals are so spoiled.
Perhaps the cutest egg-related event is when I happen to be fixing eggs for Charlie and Chloe (fixing = breaking them into two bowls and whipping each with a fork) and one of the cats wanders in and wants some egg, too. When this happens, I just put Charlie’s bowl down, and the cat – whether it’s Eli or Mush or Rue – will sit and lap up the egg, slowly, in no rush, while Charlie looks on, deep in a fancy sit, waiting for The Alpha Cat to finish eating before he goes for whatever is left over.
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