The winter sun painted a golden rectangle across Sarah's lap as she sank into her reading chair. Mox had been tracking that patch of light since dawn, his brown tabby coat rippling as he moved from window to window. Now, as Sarah's weight settled into the cushions, he made his move. One fluid leap, and he was there, black paws pressing rhythmically into the soft fabric of her sweater.
Sarah shifted her book. "Aren't you clever," she murmured, watching as Mox arranged himself precisely in the center of the sunbeam. His whiskers twitched with satisfaction.
A shadow fell across the hardwood floor. Mais stood at Sarah's feet, her long fur catching the light like spun copper. Her amber eyes fixed on Mox, unblinking. The tip of her tail drew precise circles in the air.
"Oh dear," Sarah whispered, marking her place in the book.
Mais's shoulders rolled as she gathered herself, muscles coiling beneath her fur. One breath, then she was airborne. She landed with surgical precision, her weight driving the air from Mox's lungs in a soft whoosh. Beneath her, Mox's ears flattened, but he didn't move. Only the slight tremor in his whiskers betrayed his discomfort as Mais settled her bulk more firmly against him.
Sarah stroked Mais's ear. "Was that really necessary?"
Mais's purr rumbled like distant thunder.
Behind the chair, something stirred. Bug crouched in the shadows, her black silky fur making her look like a puzzle piece that had fallen from the sky. Her focus locked onto Mais's tail as it swayed above her – a hypnotic pendulum of copper fur. Her head bobbed in time with its movement, pupils expanding until her eyes were dark pools.
The attack came between one breath and the next. Bug's paw flashed out, quick as a striking snake. Mais's tail puffed to twice its size. She yowled – a sound like stepping on a squeaky toy – and launched herself toward the bookshelf. Her back paw caught Mox's ear, sending him tumbling in the opposite direction. He skidded across the floor, leaving a trail of brown fur.
The bookshelf shuddered. A potted fern teetered, then fell. Dirt scattered across the floor like black stars.
In the sudden silence, Bug flowed into the warm hollow left by the other cats. She arranged herself into a perfect circle as she settled into Sarah's lap. Her purr started soft, then grew until it filled the room – a sound like satisfaction given voice.
From the bookshelf, Mais watched through narrowed eyes, her dignity gathering around her like a cloak. Mox had already found a patch of sun by the window, his whiskers arranged in careful nonchalance. But his gaze kept drifting back to Sarah's lap, calculating angles and trajectories for tomorrow's attempt.
The January light continued its slow crawl across the floor, painting shadows that stretched and shortened, while Bug's purr wound through the quiet house like a thread of pure contentment.