Aside from the fact that we have decided to start this new year by instituting time-outs, banishing all diapers size 5 and up, and rationing water consumption from a bottle (only at sleep time and no more than 4oz), we decided that we needed to really go that extra mile in our new stance on tough love and extend it beyond our child and onto our pets. Why, you might wonder, are they becoming such hard-asses? Well, aside from the regularly discussed issues surrounding the “developmental enhancements” we are nudging along with Stella, there is the fact that in a period of 36 hours last week we found cat spray on the front of the refrigerator, and in two separate places on the kitchen counter. I consider that pretty much a no-brainer.

Although Steve has finally come to the reality of “cats who spray, don’t get to stay,” it has not come easily. I truly admire his compassion and kindness to the animal kingdom and that, along with having to repeatedly play bad-cop with Stella, the decision to banish Rosie like this is just killing him. But rules is rules, and if the greater population of the feline kingdom can live outdoors so can our inflexible, pampered grey cat.

So, Boris now gets to commune with his peeps 24-7 and doesn’t have to worry about informing the whole household of his dominance via urinary measures, and Rosie (who Steve really thinks is behind much of the spraying) is now banished to the outdoors whenever we aren’t here and many times even when we are. The result has been that Boris pretty much gave us the finger entirely and won’t even come around for the occasional snack anymore, and Rosie – well, Rosie has been turned into such a pampered princess by her sugar daddy that she doesn’t quite know how to function when she can’t spend 23.7 hours a day on the couch sleeping. Aside from yowling at the door long enough to actually lose her voice, she managed to get herself stuck under the house today. Not only was I busy trying to negotiate the pre-nap ritual with Stella, but it was pouring rain, and Rosie decide to perform her gutteral cries of a torture victim – right under Stella’s room! So out I went – me and my 7-month pregnant self…in the pouring rain – to free the cat who was single-handedly foiling my one shot at getting Stella down for a nap. Long and ranting story short, I had to dismantle the crawl-space and virtually drag Rosie from under the house while trying to keep the neighbor cat from crawling in, then found Stella wandering the house when I got back. I had to start the whole nap ritual all over again, thereby providing Stella’s 2-year-old bladder with a full 8oz of liquid before sending her off to sleep for 2+ hours. Odds are not good that we are going to continue with our dry streak today.

It just doesn’t get much better.