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...What is it like to be Catwoman?
...About her costume, training and origin
...About Walapang's little buddy
...How can I be more like you?
...Who paid for the bedsheets?
...A question from a Female Illusionist
...About the Gotham Post and her romantic relationships
Q. Dear Catwoman,
What is it like to be in that suit and out at night? Is it fun?
Nemma
A. Dear Nemma,
You used the magic word: Fun.
One thing about my suit that is great fun is the ability to
do something real cats do all the time. If you have a cat, you probably know the
trick. They’re nowhere around, and suddenly without making a sound, they’re
right in front of you demanding attention. You can’t miss them. One moment
silent and invisible, and the next: CAT! They can be gone again in a second if
they wish, too.
One way my costume lets me pull off this trick is simply
being purple. Unless you actually live in a city like Gotham, you probably don’t
realize how bright the sky really is. Light from cars and street lights, from
advertisements and in people’s homes. If I wore black like you see burglars do
in cartoons and movies, I would stick out like a sore thumb. You would see a
Catwoman-shaped silhouette moving clearly along the skyline. By using a color
like purple that mixes red and blue, and breaking it up with the black of my
gloves and boots, I find I am very well camouflaged. But then, if I spot someone
I want to make an impression on—someone like, say, Batman—all I have to do is
get close enough so I stand out from the background, and I make a very dramatic
impression. Meow!
As for going out at night, Gotham is one of those
places that becomes alive with possibilities when the sun goes down. Imagine a
room with a big two-way mirror making up an entire wall from floor to ceiling.
When the room is brightly lit, all you see is mirror: your own reflection and
the reflection of what’s around you. Nice but no surprises, right? But if you
dim the lights in the room, the darker it gets, the more you’ll see of the space
beyond. Is it another room? Are there people there? Doors to more rooms beyond?
In Gotham, the familiar and predictable give way to the
excitement of limitless possibilities after dark. It can be dangerous and
frightening at times, like any good story has its dark and scary parts. It’s no
place for kittens, and it’s no place to go without my claws and the other
protection my suit provides.
Thanks for reading and Meow!
Your friend,
Catwoman
Q. Dear Catwoman,
I am a HUGE fan!!!!! I have been a fan since I was 2 years
old. I wish though that I could be more like you in multiple ways: your
feistiness, playful nature, awesomeness, survival skills, knowing what to do in
any and every situation, and (most of all) your flexibility. How did you learn
these things? I own 2 cats, and they are mostly polar opposites. Also, how did
you decide what your costume is? I try doing research, but all of the websites
say different things, and I end up with more questions.
Sincerely,
Hawkfrost
A. Dear Hawkfrost, thank you so much for writing. It's always a pleasure
to meet a fan and fellow cat owner.
The answer to many of your questions can be found in my
origin story Cattitude. The flexibility that I
now cultivate through yoga really began with my mother, who was a ballerina. I'm
not sure how young I was when I had my first lesson, but I can tell you that
even before that, I snuck into her music room even though I wasn't supposed to
be there. So the sneaking, naughtiness and playfulness all go way back.
I picked up a lot of the survival and fighting skills in my
European travels, which you'll read about in that same tale. Sean, who I met in
Milan and trained with in Paris, and Shirumari Sensei who I met leaving Paris
and trained with in Florence. Funny how that worked out, going back and forth
between the two countries. I always wondered if it meant something. Sometimes
life just works out that way, I guess. I think going where you're led has a lot
to do with it. Doing what you want brings you into contact with the teachers
you've meant to have. Just my feline opinion.
Case in point, my costume.
I didn't set out to have a theme and have a costume.
But one of my first jobs on coming back to Gotham, I ran into Edward Nigma, whom
you know as The Riddler. He put me in touch with Kittlemeier, who not only makes
costumes but all kinds of gadgets. When I went to see Mr. Kittlemeier for the
first time, I wore a mask I had brought from Venice - it was a very beautiful
cat mask, of the kind they make there for Carnival. Sensei used it to teach me
how the mask can bring out a part of our personality, and make all those
qualities you mention - feistiness and playfulness and knowing what to do in a
situation - just come naturally without having to think about it.
Wearing the mask, I found I answered all Kittlemeier's
questions about what kind of costume I wanted, without really giving it much
thought. It's not magic or anything, it's just freeing a part of you to let your
instincts guide you. You know what you want, but often, you don't know that you
know.
I didn't analyze the things I came up with, not for years,
but I see now that the color purple was tied to memories of my mother. She had
an amethyst necklace and to me, the color is tied to the fluid motion I always
saw in her as a dancer. The whip I learned how to use in Italy - it's cattle
country, you know, and their cowboys have been using them for centuries. Besides
the whip, I also learned a great deal about leather in Tuscany. Took the tour at
the leather school in Florence countless times and knew exactly what my costume
should be.
I hope you'll read the whole story here, and that this
answered most of your questions.
Cream & Catnip,
Catwoman
P.S. Catitude also tells you about my first cats, before Whiskers & Nutmeg.
Would love to know more about your furballs.
Q. Dear Catwoman,
I'm a cat person myself and I absolutely adore your two
clever four-legged domestic partners! It's so cute how they've accepted Alfred,
and every moment featuring them interacting with Bruce just makes me smile.
Would you please tell us a bit more about Whiskers and
Nutmeg? Where and when and how did you get them? And are there special stories
about them that have stuck with you?
Anika K.
A. Super question, Anika. You've asked about one (actually two) of my
favorite subjects. I hope you've got some time. (I brought pictures.)
Nutmeg came first. She is a Bengal, and quite honestly, a
bit of a princess The type of cat who finds the one object in the apartment
which best matches her coloring and says “This is to be my pillow.” If it
actually is a chair or a pillow, that’s fine, but if it’s your softest cashmere
sweater that has to be repurposed, that’s not her concern. She’s claimed it,
it’s hers now, and you (or I) must learn to leave it where she wants to lay on
it. Her job, as she sees it, is to lie there looking fetching. If you point her
at something another cat finds interesting, like say a spider, she will look at
you like… well like I’d look at you if you point me at a mugger and imagine
you’ll see crimefighting. “Pest control? Not my kink.”
Despite being a purebred, Nutmeg came from a shelter. I
was in Star City to see about a cougar. There was a nasty fad in L.A. at the
time with some of the gangs getting big cats to use as guard dogs. I imagine
they thought it was very intimidating—until they got caught. Then there was an
irate, malnourished jaguar, panther or leopard to place. The West Coast shelters
were filling up fast and I had a contact who gave me a heads up when police,
feds or capes were bringing in another one. This time, there was a happier story
behind the tip: a very nice couple who had a pair of tigers and over a
half-dozen cougars as pets. The wife had become pregnant and the husband was
injured in a boating accident. Their lives were changing and the cats needed a
new home. The tigers and all but two of the cougars were placed and my contact
Rita hoped I could take the last pair at the Catitat. I could… but there was a
catch. Unlike some drug dealer on his way to Iron Heights, the former owners
were still on the scene and very invested in the animals' welfare. Politely, I
had to pass inspection.
So I went to this Star City shelter to meet the couple,
and unfortunately Green Arrow spotted me at the airport. At least, I spotted
him. He was in costume and I was in civvies, so it's possible he had no idea who
I was. But that man is the worst skirt chaser you ever saw. It was just possible
that he recognize my legs, tits, ass, or whatever part of a woman’s body he
liked to focus on. So I took extra precautions to make sure I wasn't followed,
and precautions like that take time. I was terribly late getting to the shelter,
and Rita was keeping the cougar couple occupied giving them a tour. Being cat
people, they’d settled in at this one enclosure with a litter of Bengals. When I
got there, mama was resting and the kittens were running around the enclosure
like a six-headed cyclone. While I talked with the cougars couple, the kittens
ran in a furry blur to the left corner, ran in a furry blur to the right corner,
ran up a carpeted pole to a carpeted platform and ran back down again… All
except one. She had followed the crowd up, but only made it as far as the edge
of the platform on the way back down. She was looking down at the floor like she
had no idea how this dreadful thing happened and had no idea what do to now.
Mr. Cougar was saying something about the grounds of their
estate where the tigers had been kept, how they'd landscaped it to look like an
Indian hunting lodge or something. I couldn’t follow a word of it. The kitten
trying to work out her predicament was just too entertaining.
Finally, I couldn’t ignore her any longer. I excused
myself and went to help the little furball. I knew to introduce myself first, so
I held out my little finger, the tip of which was roughly the size of her nose.
She started to stretch out to touch her nose to it, and then pulled back
abruptly when she realized she was stretching out over that terrific chasm
between her and the floor. She looked up at me like I’d tried to trick her, and
then opened her mouth to meow… but no sound came out.
A silent meow. It was just too sweet.
And its meaning was more than clear: Do something about
the floor.
I carefully picked her up and lowered her down. She took
off without a thank you to rejoin the fur-cyclone of her brothers and sisters,
and I returned to Mr & Mrs Cougar. We chatted for a few more minutes until I saw
- you guessed it - the kitten had once again followed the crowd up, and only
then remembered she didn't like heights. She stood on the edge, stuck again…
And I tried to ignore the situation—She got herself up
there (twice), she could get herself down— But the little sweetie looked so
upset that the ground was so far away, so perplexed how she'd got herself so
high, and then... she looked at me.
So, um, that’s how I got Nutmeg.
She got over her fear of heights soon enough, which is
lucky since I lived in a highrise. Even so, she never took to the terrace the
way Whiskers did.
Whiskers is the adventure kitty, a mouser, and a Russian
Blue. I met him on a rainy night. It wasn't rainy enough to cancel my prowl,
just wet enough to consider cutting things short if nothing interesting came
along before midnight. North Little Italy was flirting with the idea of becoming
trendy NoLiTa, and I was checking out this little gallery that opened between a
boutique and a wine bar. I always liked that kind of place - the test balloons.
Their security is brand new - and much better than you'd expect since they don't
like the look of the neighborhood they're moving into. The merchandise is all
over the place, because they don't know what to expect from the clientele.
So I was making my way into Little Italy, via rooftop,
when I spotted the Batmobile down below. That's always exciting, knowing he's in
the neighborhood. I could proceed knowing an encounter was possible (or certain
if I made a little 'oops' deactivating the alarm), or I could head uptown to
Museum Row and pick up a trinket, knowing the Dark Knight was occupied
elsewhere. I had decided on Bat-fun when the jackass vetoed my decision by
remote control. The engine turned over and the car started to move - on
autopilot, I assume - leaving a car-size footprint of dry pavement that would
soon be as wet as its surroundings, and in the center of the dry patch, a little
circle of dark gray squirmed and stretched and finally stood to assume a feline
shape.
"Way to go, jackass," I said to no one as the cat below
stood and watched his roof drive away.
I thought no more about it, went on with my prowl as
planned, now with little hope of a Bat-encounter since it was likely he'd left
the neighborhood. I made my way to the gallery and went to work on the alarm
box... when I felt this little nudge at my calf. I looked down and there was the
little wet cat looking up at me. He nudged my leg again, looked up at me again,
and trotted off. He got as far as a a fire escape, stopped and looked back at
me, meowed and climbed up.
All I can say is it was clear that I was supposed to
follow, so I did. I was curious. The little guy climbed the fire escape up to
the roof, stopping every so often to make sure I was still in tow, then crossed
the roof, hopped to another, and led me back down - into the alley where I'd
spotted the Batmobile.
It was like he knew I'd seen what had happened. Or maybe
he thought the now-wet pavement told the story, but I really had the feeling he
knew: knew that I'd seen it, knew that I had some connection to Batman. Because
he looked up at me with this expression I can only describe as: Is there nothing
that can be done about the caped guy?
A question many a rogue has asked when similarly
inconvenienced. The answer, of course, is no. And cats have a way of not
accepting unacceptable answers.
So, um, that’s how I got Whiskers.
Oh, and Barbara caught wind of what I was doing and insisted I include a picture of Bytes. No stories necessary; you know how he came into our lives, via Eddie. He was thinner then. Dick and Babs spoil him.
Q. Dear Selina,
I was just wondering what has happened to Walapang's little buddy that used to
hang out with him. You know, the little brown one that you didn't name. Because
after the Blueprints story, it seems to have
disappeared and Walapang seems all lonely. Is the bat dead?
Victoria J.
A. You'll be happy to know the little brown bat is fine. It was touch and go
for a while. Bruce did a little investigating and found what brought those two
down to the lower level right above his workstation. The little one had
contracted something called White Nose Syndrome (WNS) which is a very serious
bat disease that showed up several years ago in the caves around Gotham. It's
believed to be caused by a fungus, which irritates the bat and wakes it from
hibernation. It burns through its fat reserves faster than it should, becomes
emaciated and cold. Poor little things. By coming down to perch over Bruce's
workstation, it had the benefit of extra heat from the lights and computers, and
extra food from Bruce's rarely-touched dinner trays.
Anyway, the little guy made it through the winter. Don't tell
Bruce, but I've named him Wayf. Sounds good with Walapang, and it's also from a
glossary of legal terms. "A stolen article which the thief has thrown aside in
his flight for fear of detection." Meow.
Q. Catwoman,
I’m sure you get this all the time but I have to ask: how can I be more like
you? I know I can’t look like you (not for a long time at least) because I’m
overweight with short red hair (dyed but still) but I would love to act like
you. The only problem is I’m usually very meek and sweet and can get quite
hyper. I feel more like a kitten than a cat. Part of my problem is I care too
much what people think of me. Is there anything you suggest for getting the
correct mindset? Music, movies, books? I already wear a lot of purple if that
helps.
With utmost adoration,
Jannesa “Cat”
A. Dear Janessa,
You're already much closer to true Cattitude than you
realize. First, you understand that it isn't about appearance. A cat recognizes
no standard there apart from what she demands of herself and what makes her feel
good about herself. So dropping a few pounds to feel healthier is great, it adds
confidence to your stride and confidence is always sexy. Meow. But that's the
reason so many cats choose to be sleek and fit, for us. Not for them.
The sweet little kitten is also perfectly compatible with a
truly feline nature. (It's quite ridiculous the way some people seem to assume
I'm a snarling pitbull all the time. I'll claw an offender when necessary, but
that's a rarity.) The Cat will always be who she is. If that is sweet and
purring this morning, hyper and energetic this afternoon, and reowrl tearing up
the town tonight, then be that. Own it. Whatever it is in you to be right now,
at this moment, be that 100%, and you are a cat.
It's only when they try to dictate what you are/should be
that you should unsheathe your claws and rip their throats open.
As for cultivating the mindset, I am so fond of jazz. There
is something about the way a jazz clarinet or an alto sax will paw at a familiar
melody, teasing it without ever quite letting it have its way completely. It
totally captures the playful nature of a cat. For movies... hm. For a brilliant
depiction of a woman totally at one with who she is, who makes the most of life,
and knows exactly how to get under the skin of a puffed up broody man, I would
say find the 1995 Pride and Prejudice with Jennifer Ehle. (Decidedly not the
more recent one.) And although the art thief in The Thomas Crowne Affair (remake
only, with Pierce Brosnan) is a man, he certainly captures the "taking it
because I can" attitude and the confidence that comes of being incredibly good
at what you do.
Confidence. Own who you are. Play whenever you can. Never let
them get away with dictating what you should be.
Purple helps too.
Ciaomeow,as we say in the real neighborhood,
Catwoman
Q. Dear Selina,
Africa is the greatest! Hear you're…um. Well, I’m sorry for
the time I tried to kill you, nine lives and bygones and all that! Anyway,
Cheshire up and left in a hurry. Do you think you might leopard-sit until I get
back to the States? His name is Baby- I know, don’t ask. Again, sorry about the
death threats.
Yours Meowfully,
Tom
P.S. Did you know Batman sent a thank-you note after that caper? He’s stranger
than he looks.
A. Tom,
Some bizarre quirk of the internet may have corrupted your
recent e-mail. It contains a number of words which simply don’t make sense when
grouped together in the way they are on the page. If I understand you correctly
and you are, in fact, in possession of an actual leopard, I enclose contact
information for my Head Keeper at the Catitat. While the preserve is quite full,
there is always room for another leopard.
Should you have meant anything other than the above, pray for
death.
Ciaomeow,
Selina
Q. Dear Catwoman,
Who paid for the bed sheets in Identity Element (chapt. 1)?
All the best, Michael O.
A. Dear Michael,
I, um, okay I can explain this. See Alfred had me doing a bit of decorating here
and there (he’s a sneaky one, you know that?) and so I sort of got into the
habit of charging anything to do with the manor or the penthouse to the Wayne
accounts, so, well, technically… He paid for the sheets, okay! But nobody should
go jumping to any conclusions about that, really. It was just a silly little
impulse purchase, and there is absolutely no cause for Alfred to be looking so
smug about it (or for Clark to look so pleased when he reads this - damn capes
interfering in a girl’s private life, woof!)
Q. Dear Catwoman,
I have always admired your mystique and persona. I hope you don’t take this in
the wrong way, but I am an aspiring female illusionist and I would be so honored
if I could portray you. I know no one can top the original but I just need the
blessing of the one and only ;)
Any things I should keep in mind-specifics, and what kind of yoga do you favor?
All my best,
Tony
A. Dear Tony,
A female illusionist you say? What an intriguing development.
It’s just come to my attention that a good number of presenting theatres,
casinos and theatrical agents are suddenly finding themselves with bookings to
fill, having reconsidered the female illusionist who had previously been slated
to play these dates. I enclose a list of these establishments and their contact
agents. Do feel free to mention my name, that’s Kyle K-y-l-e from Cat-Tales at
the Hijinx, I’m sure they'll remember me (I’m memorable), but if you'd have to
jog their memories: Gotham, the gal in the papers photographed with Bruce Wayne,
Wayne Enterprises, Wayne Tech, all that advertising, etc. You get the idea. ;)
Now then, as to portraying me, what can I say: the world is
your yarntoy. The key elements are a joyously feline sense of fun, in all
aspects of life including, but not limited to, sex. That is, enjoy the fact that
you're hot stuff and don’t be afraid to make the boys weep. They love it - and
the women who get in a snit about that because they're too uptight to get that
reaction themselves, they can lump it. You're a cat, and you don’t tone yourself
down for anybody.
Don’t be shy of using the claws, literally or figuratively.
You've got to be smart, witty, and wickedly fast in using both those skills to
slice up any little mouse that presumes to challenge you. Again, you are a cat.
If you understand that part, the rest comes naturally.
Oh, and never, ever, let them think they can tell you what to
do. That’s for dogs.
I favor the yoga of Rodney Yee, a former dancer who has mainly studied in the
Iyengar vein but in recent years relies strongly on his own practice and
intuition to influence his teaching. I enclose a
weblink if you wish to learn more and skim
his videos.
Ciaomeow,as we say in the real neighborhood,
Catwoman
(Editor’s note: Selina’s pointed remarks about mysterious new opportunities for
female illusionists will be easily understood by anyone who has read of
Zatanna’s fate in String Theory, Chapter 10.)
Q. Dear Selina,
One other matter, which has been of unusually personal interest to me lately.
You've worn purple since that first visit to Kittlemeier’s, never the hideous
outfit the Post has tagged you with lately. But the Post has allegedly
"photographed" you in alternate versions of your outfit in the past. Outfits
which are no less flattering to your figure, but which are practical for the
situation - white for snowy terrain, blue for underwater, green for the tropics,
etc. I use the word "practical" even though I've been told that’s not a word
that applies to cats, because we know about the time you dressed like a delivery
person when it made more sense on an assignment than the purple.
(Although when I hear people talk about how a zipper down the front is
practical, it makes me wonder what how they're defining the word!)
So my second question is, are these outfits buried in a closet somewhere? Or has
it been "all purple, all the time"?
Sincerely, Allaine
A. Dear Allaine,
You refer, of course, to Cattitude
for my first visit to Kittlemeier and design of the "Cat-Tales Classic" look. As
I've stated from time to time in the Tales, I did vary the outfit a few times
over the years. Sometimes a girl just wants a change. It always went pretty much
like the skirted costume I mentioned in Deja Vu All
Over Again (and elsewhere): I would try it for a few weeks, and go back to
the original.
Like Batman, I have occasionally commissioned special costumes for special
circumstances. When it is important that it be known "Catwoman" is in the area,
or is the perpetrator of a specific job, or if I must meet with someone in
costume. At other times, I will simply forego the costume and persona, and use
whatever jumpsuit or wetsuit gets the job done. You mention the delivery getup
in Fool for instance, and that is a perfect example of when "practicality" fits
into Catwoman’s activities. Put simply, time was short. I wasn’t going to let
babies drown because I had to wait for Kittlemeier to make me a special
Catwoman-themed wetsuit.
The persons you reference applying that term "practical" to a
zip-up bikerchick getup, however (Editor’s note, see String Theory) are simply
ignorant of the rooftop lifestyle and, I imagine, of the basics of putting on a
leotard or catsuit. First and foremost, women disaccomodate themselves in any
number of ridiculous ways to appear attractive to men. Putting on a bodystocking
is nothing. Anyone who wears pantyhose can do that much. Now a Brazilian wax,
that’s getting into some serious pain. But women do it, we do it all the time.
"Impractical" is it? Well, I don’t know. Consider…
Batman learns of a Catwoman crime in progress
Batman learns of a Joker crime in progress
Same principle applies to the heels. *naughty grin*
Now then, because you mention the green, I should probably confess here in the
less widely-read Ask Catwoman topic before Chris gets it into her head to tell
the world… the fact is, I lost a bet once. I was drunk, okay! It was shortly
after Bane, the real Batman was missing, there was no sign that that AzBat
disaster was ever going away. I was upset. I went to the 'Berg, I had a few more
than I should have, I made a bet with Eddie that I shouldn’t have and, yadda
yadda yadda, I wore green. ONCE. And there aren’t any photos, and if there are
and they ever surface, then somebody is going to bleed. That’s all I have to say
about green.
As to your second question, I do have a few of the old costumes stashed away in
the Hellmouth closet. However a sad fact of the Gotham lifestyle is that once a
vigilante finds a lair, it’s lost. Anything that was stashed there, lost. I’m
quite sure that’s how he got his hands on my skirted costume and the whip he has
in the trophy room.
Q. Dear Selina,
We all know that the Gotham Post ran a complete fabrication when it suggested
that you were romantically involved with - well, you-know-who.
We all know that the Post has printed gross exaggerations and outright lies
about all kinds of villains and heroes - Nightwing and Poison Ivy? But have any
of the Post’s distortions ever had any basis in reality?
For example, the Post has reported other relationships you've had in the past -
a demented police detective, an Italian hit man, etc. While you've retold much
of your life’s story to Chris, I feel compelled to ask as I find myself reading
through back issues of the Post (as well as dispatches from its office in Rome).
Do those stories have ANY basis in fact?
A. As readers of Cattitude are aware, I did spend a little time in Italy in
my early years, and I can only assume the Post based their curious idea about
Blondie the Italian hitman (note the lowercase "h", I’ll get to Tommy in a
minute), on Fabrizio. After Francois, I did have a brief affair with a
yacht-owning Italian, and I learned a good few things from him about Swiss and
Cayman banking that have proven very useful over the years.
Now, I’ll be quite honest: I don’t really know much about
Fabrizio’s money, other than there was a lot of it and it came from his family.
I know they were in commercia (general term for "business"), and in Italy, on a
certain level, that involves a certain amount of what we here in the States
would consider "criminal" behavior --in terms of payoffs and politics, not
killing people. But I really don’t think they were Mafiosi or anything like it,
and Fabrizio was certainly no hitman. He was… well, now that I think of it, the
best way to describe him is a rich playboy. Let’s eh, not tell Bruce that part.
The Post is also half-correct in that I was stalked (that really is the only
appropriate word) by an obsessed psychopath of a cop called McShane. They took
some liberties in implying any sort of relationship. When I became aware of the
situation, and by situation I mean a law enforcement buffoon deciding he could
make Catwoman his pet project, I took steps to lead him into a dead end where he
could be dealt with, and by dealt with I mean professionally (and, if necessary,
personally) destroyed. That is how Catwoman deals with bottom-feeders, be they
cops or private agents, who presume to push themselves into her life. That he
turned out to be a deranged killer was something of a bonus. The scumbag wound
up dead, so there is no danger of a sequel. Meow.
Now then, as to hitmen. These are, by and large, the scum of
the earth and only the very worst of those Post-hacks that pretend I’m some kind
of streetwalking guttertrash could think I would have anything to do with such
creatures.
There is only one "Hitman" I deign to recognize, and that is
Tommy Monaghan. We've had an adventure or two, and there is just enough spark to
make for some wonderful flirting. But that’s as far as it goes. He knows there’s
only one man for me. Anyone of any sense knows that.
Ciaomeow,as we say in the real neighborhood,
Catwoman
Q. Dear Catwoman,
Besides being main characters in Cat-Tales, both you and Batman are exceptional
at hand-to-hand combat. Were you Chris' sole source of information when she
worked on stories such as Cattitude and had to describe multiple fight scenes in
detail? Or do you know if she had to do research into martial arts and other
techniques? Did she perhaps draw on any personal experiences?
A. You're very perceptive. While Chris had some fleeting exposure to Aikido
in college and a little Tai Chi since, she never practiced seriously, finding
yoga to be a better fit for her non-cat burglar, non-crimefighting lifestyle.
She does have a good friend who is a serious practitioner of both Aikido and the
Bushido sword-related disciplines. While he has been pivotal in providing both
information and inspiration on several occasions, including the Heaven-Earth
throw and pins described in the first Batman-Catwoman encounters in Cattitude,
there are many other instances where she falls back on the time-honored formula:
general knowledge of subject + Google.
Ciaomeow,as we say in the real neighborhood,
Catwoman
Q. I was just wondering how you and Harvey 'Twoface' Dent
became such good friends?
A. Dear Harvey, he’s such a sweetie. The thing you must understand about
Harvey Dent is that he was never in his element with the rogues. Magna cum laud
at Stanford, Political Science, then Harvard Law. By contrast, Hugo’s hobby at
that time was trying to hypnotize the Iceberg waitresses with the glint off the
goldfoil on beer bottles – no really, he had a thing going with Crane that if he
succeeded they would make her afraid of bottlecaps. So Harvey just didn’t have
much in common with the Iceberg crowd, if you know what I mean.
We’d seen each other a few times, here and there, but just to nod, say Hi,
nothing memorable. One night he was at the Berg, grumbling into his drink about
something or other. He’d been talking to Jervis and it wasn’t going well.
Jervis was saying something about a tempest in a teapot jangling the Jabberwock.
When he walked off, Harvey made a joke, said it was no way to spend an evening
but it was better than sitting home alone, wasting away like the heroine of an
18th century poem. “And we sure as hell aren’t the fucking lady of shallot.” I
heard, I laughed and that seemed to surprise him. We got to talking. For the
Berg, he seemed like a nice lonely guy, different from other rogues – like I was
myself – the connection was pretty natural.
He said he didn’t expect anybody in that godforsaken hellhole to recognize the
allusion, he didn’t know what pleased him more, that someone had or that she was
wearing leather. I was used to it from rogues, I explained the rules like
always, and when he got mouthy I pointed out the scorch marks on Jonathan’s hat.
Anyway, we concluded that while the Iceberg certainly wasn’t the Algonquin
Roundtable, you could never expect to get a really cold Igloo in a plastic
Penguin glass there.
Personally, I don’t think it had anything to do with having read a book or
wearing purple leather. I think what Harvey really needed was someone who didn’t
judge him for sharing his body and psyche with a criminal, and yet wasn’t a
homicidal psychotic or a cheap henchwench. I’m not exactly “normal” but by
Iceberg standards, I’m as close to the normal life he’d lost as he was going to
get in that world where he found himself after the acid.
Ciaomeow, as we say in the real neighborhood,
Catwoman
Q, Where in Gotham is the East End- that section of the city
Selina is the protector of (in the current comic scenario)?
A: As with most subjects connected to me, the Gotham Post (editor’s note:
that’s the comics in your world) is somewhat confused. What I can only guess
they are referring to as the "East End" is New York’s Lower East Side in your
world, which was historically associated with tenements and pushcarts during the
great waves of immigration in the 19th and early 20th Century. While today LES
has its share of eclectic boutiques and restaurants, it is simply not my kind of
neighborhood. If I were inclined to attach myself to some part of the city and
declare myself its "protector," that wouldn’t be it. The implication that I
actually have ties to the area only shows that tabloid’s ignorance of my true
origins.
The irony is that there actually is an East End in uptown Manhattan Gotham, not
far from my old apartment on the Upper East Side overlooking Robinson Park. East
End Avenue, to be precise, known to many a socialite hopping the Hamptons
Jitney.
Ciaomeow,as we say in the real neighborhood,
Catwoman
Editor’s Additional Note: While Catwoman does continue to prowl those areas of the city she considers her territory, these areas are the same she prowled when actively practicing as Gotham’s premiere art and jewel thief. The areas consist largely of Museum Row, the upscale condos flanking the park on the upper east side and upper west side, the wholesale diamond district, the galleries of Madison Avenue, the jewelers on Fifth, etc. Crimefighting rarely occurs during these prowls, as she has said many times "That’s his kink, not mine." When it does, Selina is always reluctant to admit to it. However it is fair to say that, regardless of the occasional criminal-pummeling for reasons of her own, stopping crime and protecting neighborhoods is not the reason she prowls.
Q. Isn’t Gotham city just an unpublished name for New York
City?
A. Yes, it is. Gotham is synonymous with New York, and when the Batman comics
were first written, the name was more commonly used. Everyone would have
recognized it not as a generic East Coast city but THE East Coast city. Outside
of comic books there is still no gray area at all. Variety calls its New York
section "Gotham," and Gotham Magazine highlights the best of upscale Manhattan
each and every month. Gotham is New York, end of discussion.
Don’t fall into the comic book trap of thinking New York, Metropolis, and Gotham
are all clustered together as sister cities. If Gotham and New York both exist,
then there is another Wall Street, Broadway, Diamond District, Fashion Mecca,
Publishing Center, Business Megalopolis, Embassy Row and UN right across the
river, and both are diminished. Gotham becomes an also-ran, and the Batman’s
City is no also-ran.
As a matter of interest, Metropolis isn’t an East Coast city at all. It is what
we know as Chicago, the biggest city closest to farm country.