*
Alfred tossed me out of the mansion again last night, after he caught me licking the frosting off of Robin’s birthday cake. The stodgy old crumb. Never one to let the dramatics of an old buffoon get me down, I hoofed it thru the rain to Gotham’s Gaslight District. There I threw dice and drank with my furry brothers in the back alleys.
I quit while I was even, then Batphoned Cat Woman. We met for lattes at Cafe Vampirica, made small talk and smoked a Gitane. Then she slipped me inside her purse, bought a single ticket to the late show at the Red Brick Theatre across the street, and smuggled me in. I sat on her lap while we watched The 39 Steps from the balcony. Her hands were warm and she rubbed my tummy. In no time at all I was purring like a V12 on the autobahn.
However, nothing is as it seems with that beguiling seductress, and soon she was pressing me for details of the “Wayne family fortune”. When I played coy and merely meowed in reply, she grew perturbed, and hissed at me. I gave her knee a hot bite, and we yowled at each other until the usher booted us out of the theatre. Outside in the alley, she lifted my tail and gave me a sound spanking. I stole a quick kiss, pawed her tights once, and skedaddled with a snarl. Her laughter followed me for blocks. Outwitted again - that woman knows how to play me like a stringed instrument.
It was half-past-two when I slogged back to the mansion. The cat door was locked (Alfred - of course). I slipped into the basement thru the drainage tunnel, fluffed myself up, and curled up on the still-warm hood of the Batmobile. My Batphone buzzed. It was a text, from Cat Woman. “Next week, my Kitteh? Purr Purr.” I texted back, “Same Bat Place, same Bat Time.”
That woman: Impossible, impetuous, bewitching, unknowable. In a word: Purrfect. She always was the one for me.
I slept.
I quit while I was even, then Batphoned Cat Woman. We met for lattes at Cafe Vampirica, made small talk and smoked a Gitane. Then she slipped me inside her purse, bought a single ticket to the late show at the Red Brick Theatre across the street, and smuggled me in. I sat on her lap while we watched The 39 Steps from the balcony. Her hands were warm and she rubbed my tummy. In no time at all I was purring like a V12 on the autobahn.
However, nothing is as it seems with that beguiling seductress, and soon she was pressing me for details of the “Wayne family fortune”. When I played coy and merely meowed in reply, she grew perturbed, and hissed at me. I gave her knee a hot bite, and we yowled at each other until the usher booted us out of the theatre. Outside in the alley, she lifted my tail and gave me a sound spanking. I stole a quick kiss, pawed her tights once, and skedaddled with a snarl. Her laughter followed me for blocks. Outwitted again - that woman knows how to play me like a stringed instrument.
It was half-past-two when I slogged back to the mansion. The cat door was locked (Alfred - of course). I slipped into the basement thru the drainage tunnel, fluffed myself up, and curled up on the still-warm hood of the Batmobile. My Batphone buzzed. It was a text, from Cat Woman. “Next week, my Kitteh? Purr Purr.” I texted back, “Same Bat Place, same Bat Time.”
That woman: Impossible, impetuous, bewitching, unknowable. In a word: Purrfect. She always was the one for me.
I slept.
*
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