When the kittens look like this, I love them unconditionally.
But when I awaken at 3 am because of a full-scale attack on my feet, unconditional love quickly becomes survival of the fittest. First, I play dead and lie still. The attack stops ---- briefly ----- and then resumes, either because they do not care that I am dead or because they are not fooled. Either way, my toes are at risk. 10 minutes later I realize that playing dead in your own bed is not conducive to actually sleeping in your own bed. So I quickly re-arrange my feet, in hopes the cats will be deterred. Ha. The attack continues. I lie there wondering where I last saw the spray bottle (cats hate being sprayed in the face with water and it's our fail safe method for staying safe). Then I remember that the water bottle is up in the playroom, keeping the gladiators safe. No relief is in sight. Now I've been awake for 20 minutes, so I take a trip to the bathroom. I return to find both cats curled up in the warm spot I recently occupied. I stand there, now next to my bed, instead of in it, and suggest that I am the boss of them.
They stretch and yawn as if to say, "WHATEVER." So I gently climb back into bed, trying not disturb the sleeping cats. And as I fall back asleep, certain facts must be faced: they are actually the boss of me.