Catcat: Regular Cat

I’m just a young, gray tabby, so I don’t know a lot about humans, but it sure seems like my neighbor, Batman, has a lot of enemies. 

           I’ve watched them come and go over the year, some more interesting than others. A clown, a bird, a couple gaudy business guys, and a handful of tightly dressed ladies. I have some favorites, but that’s neither here nor there. 

What really struck me was how much effort these fellas and ladies were putting into taking Batman out. Yet with all their effort none of them even came close. I was embarrassed for them. Batman seemed like kind of a doofus. An easy target. 

Just to be clear I don’t have anything against Batman. He’s kind of a weird guy but he never did anything to me. I just took him out because he was there. Like dusting a seat before you sit down or kicking a rock. It was more of a subconscious act than anything else. The thing that would really embarrass Batman’s entourage of enemies is that I did it between naps.

I saw my way in almost immediately. He was lonely. If a dog passed by, he couldn’t help but take a knee and say hello. It was the flurry of last-minute scratches and pets after the meeting had seemingly come to a natural conclusion, that telegraphed his deep desire for companionship. It was his Achilles heel, the open back door. 

I waited at the end of Wayne Manor drive. As if on cue, Bruce brought the garbage out. I slinked through the shadows as he dumped the bag and was waiting on the back stoop when he returned. He stopped and frowned down at me. 

I chirped and batted my eyes. “Mrow.”

A smile crept onto the corner of his mouth. “Hello, mister.”

I twirled.

He gave in, smiled, and knelt. “Where’d you come from?”

I meowed again, twirled again and stretched my neck, jamming my scalp into his palm. He scratched my skin and chuckled under his breath.

I chirped and galloped and rubbed up against the screen door.

“You want to come in?”

I plopped my butt on the ground and barked a meow.

He chuckled. “Alright, buddy. Come on, then.” He stood and waved me along as he opened the door. “I think we have something for you.”

As I watched him rummage through the pantry, I got the sense that he didn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. He shrugged apologetically, “Sorry, buddy. It’s Alfred’s night off.” He finally found the can of tuna in a clearly labeled and organized section. I had spotted it ages earlier and tried to show it to him, but I guess reading canning labels wasn’t exactly Batman’s strong suit.

After he watched me eat for a few minutes he lost interest and drifted into his lair. I followed. He sat in front of his—apparently gothic themed—bank of sophisticated monitors and punched a few buttons, bringing them to life. He swept aside the dossiers that popped up and opened a map of Gotham. Markers glowed in a calming blue. Within moments one of the markers lit up in red. He clicked on it and the map zoomed in on the location. A real-time satellite image popped up. A red headed lady dressed in a green leotard was directing a malfeasance of henchmen around a loading dock.

Batman clenched his fist. “Diabolical.” He shot up and marched across his lair and disappeared into his cloak room. I sashayed up to the control board and sat, licking my paw. As an adversary, Batman seemed pretty unimpressive. I took my time. 

After a moment I heard the Batmobile rev up in his subterraneous garage. I jumped up onto the control bank. The tracker on his car popped up in orange and began zipping across the map toward the designated location. I watched it for a while. Once it approached its destination I lost interest. I hopped into his chair and curled up for a nap.

 I heard him coming a mile up the road and took my time waking up. The washing grind of his tires in the gravel of the shoulder told the tale of distress. He was either impaired by a significant injury, or intoxicated, most likely with some sort of exotic weaponized poison. The latter turned out to be true. He stumbled through the bat cave door clutching his side and fighting the urge to heave with short, forced breaths. He leaned against the doorway and gathered himself.

I stood, stretched, and sat, watching. 

He pulled back his cowl, removed his mask and let it fall to the floor. He sucked in a giant breath as he mustered his strength and stumbled across the cave. I met him at the cabinet. He absentmindedly stroked at the nape of my neck as he unlocked it. It breathed a puff of steam as it opened. He rifled through the vials, reading the labels off with a droning mumble as he pushed each one aside. Finally, he found the one he was looking for.

“Aha! The antidote.” He held it up in triumph before setting it aside… setting it right in front of me. I’d had a plan, and it had looked something like this, but I never thought it would be this easy. 

He secured his syringe and medical kit and slumped into his chair. He set it on the matte black (always his style) table and opened it, preparing the syringe and staging the alcohol, cotton swabs, tourniquet and bandage. He held out a hand to retrieve the antidote. He paused with a huff and looked up with a patient annoyance. His expression froze.

I had my paw resting on the vial. He had placed it so close to the edge of the desk that the tiniest push would send it falling. He took a deep breath, held it, and slowly extended a cautionary hand. “Cat, please don’t.”

We held eye contact for what must have been only a fraction of a second but in that flash of a moment I realized my hands were tied. I pushed it.

His eyes grew wide and followed the vial as it somersaulted to the ground, smashing with a delicate fragility on the mat-black, stone floor, a perfect spray of fine glass and lifesaving fluid. I purred and chirped and arched my back as I spun around before sitting back in place and indifferently absorbing his look of astonishment. I blinked slowly. 

He clutched at his side and groaned as he bent over and fell from his chair to the floor. He tried to push himself up, faltered, and fell back onto his face. With a struggling groan, “Cat… cat, why?”  

I blinked down at him. Chirped and spun in a slinky circle before hopping down. I purred as I slithered and passed my belly across his pointy little bat ears. Perfect belly scratchers. I chirped and tip-toed onto his body. I spun a circle before curling up into a ball on his back, his last dozen breaths lulling me to sleep.

I know there are folks out there that want to be heroes. Folks that are willing to sacrifice for others. And that’s all well and good. But there’s one thing any do-gooder should remember. There’s always someone out there that doesn't care about whatever thing you hold most dear. There’s someone like me, who will kill you just because I can. And it’s so easy, you’ll never see it coming.