“No—” I start, already moving.
Too late.
Sox launches herself onto the table with zero grace, scattering cards and pennies in every direction. Pennies rain down like the world’s cheapest slot machine jackpot,plink-plink-plinkingacross hardwood.
“What the—” Silas jerks back.
Sox does a victory lap through the remaining pennies, batting them with her paws, tail up, absolutely delighted with the chaos she’s creating.
“Is that a CAT?” Mom half-stands, hand to her chest.
“SOX!” Harper lunges for Sox.
But Sox, being Sox, sees Silas—the one person at the table who’s not actively trying to grab her, probably because he’s the one person allergic to cats—and decides he looks like the safest option.
She leaps.
Directly onto Silas’s chest.
“JESUS CHRIST—” Silas throws his hands up as Sox scrambles for purchase, claws out, climbing him like a tree.
“Sox, NO—” Harper’s around the table in a flash.
“Get it OFF—” Silas is half-standing, cat attachedto his button-down like velcro, and that’s when he sneezes. Violently. Directly into Sox’s face.
Sox, offended, digs her claws in deeper.
“OW—fuck—I’m allergic to cats!” Silas sneezes again.
“I’ve got her!” I’m there, trying to pry Sox’s claws from Silas’s shirt, but she’s locked on like her life depends on it.
“You’re making it worse!” Harper shoves me aside, reaching for Sox.
Sox sees Harper coming and makes an executive decision: time to abandon ship.
She launches herself from Silas—leaving four perfect claw marks through his shirt—directly at me.
I catch her on instinct, which is a mistake because Sox is not interested in being caught. She’s a furry pinball of pure chaos, all scrambling paws and indignant yowls.
“Caleb, hold her still—” Harper’s hands are reaching.
But Sox twists like a feral demon, claws raking across my forearms, and I yelp and lose my grip.
Sox hits the ground running.
“Grab her!” Harper dives.
Sox jukes left.
“I’ll get her!” Mom moves right.
Sox goes straight down the middle, shoots between Mom’s legs, and disappears under the couch with a final indignantmrrrow.
Silence.
We’re all frozen: Harper on her knees by the dining table, me clutching my scratched forearms, Mom bent over like she’s mid-lunge, and Silas still standing with hisshirt shredded, eyes streaming, staring at the couch like it just declared war.
Then Silas sneezes.