“Do you take care of your kitty cat?” my six-year-old grandson asked me.

“What do you mean, Zak?” I asked him.  “We have a dog.  We don’t have a kitty cat.”

He gave me a blank look.  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I guess,” I replied, “I don’t know what you are talking about.  We don’t have a kitty cat.”

“Sure you do!” he said, patting his lower abdomen.  “Everybody has one.  It is right here. See, you have a big one ’cause you’re fat.  I have a little one ’cause I’m a kid.  But I think they work the same.”

“Oh,” I said.  “Explain this to me.  I don’t think I know how it works.”

“Grandma, you’re really old.  I can’t believe you don’t know how the kitty cat works.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m really dumb.  Sometimes grandmas get that way.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, obviously thinking things over.  He stared out the window for a minute.  “Well, you know that you breathe in air with your mouth, nose, and eyes.”

“I thought you used your eyes for seeing things,” I said.

“Yeah, they do that too,” he said.  “Anyway, all that air is stored here in the kitty cat.  When you get enough air stored a great wind starts to blow.  It pushes the brown stuff out your back and any water you have comes out the front.  If there is enough wind; but, no brown stuff, that is called a fart.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Do you understand now?”

“Yes,” I said.  “I think I do.”

Zak stared out the window for a minute.  “I’m glad I’m not an alligator,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re not an alligator, too,” I said.

“I think I’ll go outside and play.  If there is anything else you don’t understand, just ask me.  I’ll explain it to you.”

“Okay,” I said.  “Have fun with your friends.”