On raising well-behaved cats

I have accepted many of my cats' horrific behaviors.

Mulder likes to eat the toilet paper? Fine, I'll just keep it under the sink. He also likes to find a well-populated area of a tabletop, spread his fat ass out for a nap and knock everything onto the floor. I adjusted. I know that my bathroom sink will forever be full of cat hair due to his incessant lounging there. I don't complain.

On to you, John Brown. You opened up the fridge and pulled out every piece of meat you can get your little paws on. I shook my head and dutifully strung up some bungee cords to keep you out. You urinated on my futon. Again and again and again. After trying medication, sprays and punishment, I now take off the cloth cover and simply let you do your business on the plastic cover below, and wash when appropriate.

So imagine my surprise Saturday morning when I woke on the futon (I've been sleeping there until the ex moves his stuff out of the bedroom) to discover that, while I slept, John Brown had, in fact, peed on me. After all of my I-love-you-just-the-way-you-are Mommishness. I'm plotting my revenge as I speak.