She blurts out a laugh, hiding it behind one hand. “That’s me,” Summer says, around the absurdly huge smile on her face. “I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.”
Helios hears his momma’s voice and bolts across Stiles’ lap to stand with front feet planted on the edge of the window and back feet heavily on Stiles’ crotch. He thrusts his head out toward Summer, whiskers forward in an equally huge kitty smile.
“I think he likes you,” she says.
He was going to say something charming and witty, really, honestly, but then cat happens, and Stiles is reaching down with a theatrical wince on his face, trying to pick the poor creature’s back feet up with one hand. “Ohh, ohh paws, ow, paws, sharp paws, sharp little paws, heavy cat, tender area, mayday, mayday, man down—”
He lurches to the side just a little, voice still strained. “He’s…a very nice—heavy, ow, so heavy, ow, ow—cat, really, I knew..ow, he had to…buddy could you just…move the feet…like four inches…please…”
From his perspective it almost certainly takes entirely too long for Summer to get over her new fit of the giggles enough to catch Helios under the pawpits and lift him out of the Jeep. “Helios, you are a very bad, naughty, wicked kitty,” she scolds. The miscreant looks completely unimpressed and licks his nose complacently.
She looks at Stiles with an exaggeratedly apologetic look on her face. “Are you okay?” The question does have some seriousness to it; kitties have sharp toes and Helios is not a /small/ cat. “You better come in the house and, uh, inspect the damage.”