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Week 5


       … … … … :: Duty Log: Catwoman :: … … …

Honey, I’m home!

Okay, it’s night 4 and that little joke has run its course.  It is a whole new cave though, since he’s been staying down here.  The crimefighting itself is just as weird, but going out at night when he’s right there at workstation 1, it’s… it’s good.  Alfred is awfully grumpy with the dinner situation, but I really don’t know what he expects.  Bruce is in the homestretch of his recovery, and he’s a lot more mobile than he has been, but he’s not going to trudge up those stairs every night just to eat in the dining room, and I’m certainly not going to eat up there alone.  Truth is, we’ve got it quite cozy down here.  Although the bats are still pretty wary after my “lesson” with the grapnel gun.  I definitely don’t have the knack, but it was fun trying.  I can’t remember when I’ve seen Bruce so lighthearted.  He says once he’s back on the job, I’ll have to try it at least once in the city with an actual building to grapple.  Pigeons beware.

And then tonight, after dinner, I was just going to slip into the costume vault and change, but he said to wait.  Had me sit in his lap, and then he handed me this little purple pouch.  I could tell it was cut from the skewered costume, so it matches perfectly.  Inside were these 3 perfectly formed “catarangs.”  Purple (of course), shaped like my claws, and a priceless little paw print on the center joint.  I couldn’t believe it.  I giggled like an idiot, and then I just stared at them, and then this bawdy laugh sort of bubbled out of me, and then, finally, I remembered how to use my tongue and managed to thank him.  It’s…

Cat break.  I had to get one out just to look at it again.  (Ref: Duty log: Catwoman, scan image-catarang.jpg, seal yes/no, encrypt yes/no)  Isn’t it beautiful? 

He made it.  I never realized he made the first batarangs himself.  I’ve used Kittlemeier from day one for my things.  But this, he made it himself.  Batman did.  While I was out last night, probably…  Batman, the judgmental jackass…  Sometimes it’s still hard to wrap my brain around it.  I really don’t deserve him.  I certainly don’t deserve the way he spoils me.

The crimefighting was more of the same.  Well, to be fair, it’s hardly “crimefighting” at this point.  I’m still on Alfred restrictions for another two nights, which barely qualifies as a prowl.  But just being able to go out at night is a pleasure.  After only three days of “bed rest,” I was getting pretty restless.  Gave me a whole new appreciation for what Bruce is going through.  But anyway, to the extent that I am crimefighting again, it was more of the same.  I’m still keeping an eye on the meatpacking district.  Besides the fashion houses, there is a lot of money down there.  Nothing in my Museum Mile/Fifth Avenue cat-egory, but still, money.  Worth protecting.  STILL no overreaching amateurs at Cartier though.  It really doesn’t seem fair.  I got run through by a freaking DEMON troll, I’m absolutely entitled to claw the stuffing out of one really annoying, unjustifiably arrogant nobody.  Woof. 

No Ivy either.  I’ve been keeping such a close eye on the park, it’s safer than that bench outside One Police Plaza.  I’m starting to think she skipped town.  Maybe gone to see Harvey or something.  I had meant to stop in the Iceberg and see if anyone’s heard from her, but the time got away from me.  That would be Falconi’s fault.  Just why the idiot wanted to go into COUNTERFEITING in this day and age, I can’t even guess.  I mean, other than drug deals and black market kidneys, who pays in cash anymore?  It seems like it would be more trouble than its worth, getting enough counterfeit bills converted to the real stuff to justify the time and manpower involved.  But the rumors turned out to be true.  Somehow or other, Carmine got hold of a beautiful set of $100 plates.  Had them at his townhouse, which was not a challenge getting into or out of but I did pick up a tail during the getaway.  By the time I lost them, I’d missed last call.  Fuckers.

Not having anything better to do, I checked the alley off Michigan, and Robin was still there keeping an eye on Parsel.  We finished up our chat about the Cassie situation.  I reiterated that jealousy rarely if ever gives the impression that you love someone; it gives the impression that you are insecure.  Then Parsel made his move and we broke off to follow and pummel, after which I concluded that insecurity is really not attractive.  Robin expressed a desire for more pummeling, and I said “No, school night,” and sent him to bed. 

Of course he wasn’t going to go just because I said so.  I would have been spectacularly disappointed in him if he had.  The bat boys are stubborn, just like their mentor, it’s part of their charm.  So I started playing with my new catarangs, and that brought him out of hiding.  After 14 repetitions of “Oh cool,” I suggested a zip through the park on his way home.  He thought I meant patrolling together.  That would be the addled crimefighter brain, junior edition at work.  As if I’m going to be seen traipsing around Gotham looking for bad guys to pummel with Batman’s sidekick in tow!  (Yes, I know, I helped him pummel P.  But Parsel is a bottomfeeder, and nobody is going to believe he even saw Robin or Catwoman, let alone both, and forget either of us stooping to acknowledge his existence if he did come into our field of vision.

Anyway, I let Robin chase me through the park.  He kept up quite well, although he’s still not quite as good as he or the tabloids think he is.  I have no doubt that he’ll get there one day, but for now, Batman is still first among crimefighters and there is no second.  Not to mention, with Batman, he’s got the tightest ass in the western hemisphere, and the perfect concentration of muscle, especially in the chest and shoulders.  Just enough to be really strong without being too bulky, so you can’t help but want to kiss all the way down those bulging biceps, dragging your teeth ever so lightly over the skin as you go.  Too bad he doesn’t realize I can tell when he’s reading over my shoulder that way, which is really quite silly since I already told him all about my night as soon as I came home.  That much maligned feline logic would say that if you already know what happened, there isn’t any reason to be reading along as I type up the logs, but as long as you’ve put a shot of Baileys in that hot chocolate, we’ll call it even.
       … … … … :: Catwoman logout :: :: :: :: :: :: … … …

       … … … … :: Duty Log: Catwoman :: … … …
Mmm, that was nice.  Anyway, as I was saying before the interruption, the crimefighting itself is still pretty weird, but going out at night—and the coming home, now that he is in the cave, it’s so much different.  Completely different.  I could definitely get used to it.

The only real drawback is the dressing situation.  I don’t mind keeping my costume in the vault, I did it before, for a short while, before I’d even moved in.  But I can’t bring myself to sleep nude in the open air of a cave.  I just can’t.  I mean, it’s a cave.  I know it’s The Batcave, but still—CAVE!  So I’ve commandeered his pajama tops, which are fine to sleep in, but he does get grabby in the morning when I just want to scoot up to the manor and get a shower.  Still, small price to pay.  Meow.
       … … … … :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: … … …

To be continued...

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