Ollie and Moseley part 2

Every morning, Ollie wakes me up by sitting on my chest and staring at me until I open my eyes. He's 19 pounds of cat just... sitting there. On your ribs. Staring. Like,[*mob boss speaking*]"Good morning sleeping beauty, You're up now. How aboutthat breakfast!" Then I go to shower, and I have to leave the door cracked because cats hate closed doors. But Ollie thinks the shower is a torture chamber. I can see him through the frosted glass, pacing back and forth like,[*mob boss speaking*]"HEY! You gotta come outta there! The water will kill you and we don't know how to use dat can-opener!" He's having a full anxiety attack because I'm voluntarily standing under falling water. And at 3:30 AM? They both get the zoomies. It sounds like someone's being murdered upstairs. You hear crashes, things breaking. You run out expecting to find a crime scene, and both cats are just sitting there licking themselves like, [*mob bossvoice*]"You saw nuthin, got it?." The best part? Ollie plays midnight football with my socks. He'll raid the sock drawer, steal a rolled-up pair, and play his own personal Super Bowl all through the house. But during the day? He'll walk right past a sock like, "I don't know what that is. Never seen it before in my life." Meanwhile, his thirty dollar catnip kicker toy is just sitting there like, "Remember me? I cost more than your lunch." These cats have everything money can buy, cost me a fortune to spoil, and somehow their favorite toys are basically small trash. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way. Well folks, it's time for me to get home and check in with the Boss. He's pretty particular about that. If you want a furry mob boss of your own, your likely to find one doing hard time at your local shelter. Goodnight folks!