One day Izzy and George were playing...uh...or were they? George bit Izzy on the back of the neck and we thought, "um, it might be time to get them fixed." The next thought was, "we should separate them until that can happen." So, into the spare room Izzy went. And she wasn't happy about it. For four days. Four very long days.

The more time passed, the more questions the self-proclaimed "Curious Kenzie" fabricated. Ei, yi, yi. That's really all I can say. I did not think I would have to have "that conversation" with a 5-1/2 year old. The more vague I tried to be, the more perceptive she became. I suddenly became challenged with my own personal philosophy: always answer her directly and honestly. In the back of my head I visualized her on the playground sharing her new-found information, and the subsequent calls from other parents questioning my personal philosophy.

So, I tried to be honest but not so direct. After several rounds, she tried one more pass at it, asking, "why do Izzy and George need to be in separate rooms?" I said, "well, it's possible that Izzy would have kittens and we don't want that to happen." "Ewh!!," she said, "why would George want to fertilize his own sister?!" I still can't quite figure out how that A plus L equaled C. We discussed it, even looked at her book of the egg growing into an embryo, then into a baby.

Next night at the dinner table, amidst a friendly conversation of something safe and age-appropriate, Kenzie asked, "Mom, how do the boy kitties get the sperm into the girl kitties?" Seriously, I feel this is barely appropriate to post on the blog, imagine how I felt at the dinner table! That's when my personal philosophy took a hiatus and I said, "Kenzie, they just know. And I'm not going into any more details until you're a little older." Not my best response, but the one that rushed out in a desperate attempt to buy a year or two. She seemed to accept it, only asking, "ok, how old do I have to be?"

Turns out the cat wasn't in heat.