Pets are a great way for kids to learn responsibility.
And a whole lot more.
Last week, on the first official day of spring, Rosie, our 5-month-old kitten, came into season.
I had been calling her that evening and, having lost a kitten six months previously, was starting to get more than a little worried when she didn't come bounding up the steps as usual.
Eventually I heard yowling from under the deck and torchlight revealed a large tabby cat, frozen to the spot.
It didn't look particularly distressed so I continued my search, to find Rosie sitting on the gate, also frozen to the spot.
I carried her inside and when I put her down on the floor she started dragging herself along the floor in the weirdest of manners.
My first thought was that she had been hit by a car, as she seemed to have lost all use of her hind legs.
"Why is Rosie walking funny?" Miss Five asked, full of concern.
"I don't know darling," I replied, perplexed.
With that Rosie smooched the floor and assumed the position.
Oh.
Having grown up on a farm I really should have been quicker off the mark.
By this time Miss Five's voice was starting to quiver.
"She's ok," I reassured her.
"She's just really excited."
"Why?"
"Because she's found something really exciting outside."
(So far, no lies.)
"What did she find?"
Ermm.
"Have you chosen your bedtime books yet?" I distracted her.
A couple of days later a big, black tom bailed Rosie up under the deck.
Copious dousings with water pistols and the garden hose failed to move either of them.
"Why won't she come out Mum," Miss Five asked.
"Because she's being silly," I said, running out of inspiration.
During the night, while everyone else slept, I dealt to both Tabby Tom and Black Tom who braved the catflap, which I had locked to prevent Rosie going out but, neglectfully, not to stop other cats coming in.
So it's hi-ho, hi-ho and off to the vet we go.
Which is going to prompt yet more questions.
Still, I have learnt a thing or two.
When the girls hit their teens I will be investing in a bigger water pistol.
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