By Chelsea Mechelle

I’ve tracked the Cat this far, now all I have to do is close the deal. Crash through the skylight, and swoop down on her. Just like the Bat would do. The big Bat would be proud.

“Nice detective work, Batgirl,” he’d say. Yeah, right. Sure he would. I’m his least favorite of the Batgang, composed of Nightwing, Robin, Huntress, and Azrael. Azrael-there’s a laugh-a real head case; thinks he’s descended from some ancient cult of Knights. Batman kicked his butt right out of that armored up Batsuit years back when he got too power-hungry.

Now he calls himself “Azrael.” Whatever. Bats had been on the outs-a broken back, a real “Knight fall,” pardon the pun, at the hands of that steroid-crazed ‘Bane.’ He asked that whacko Azrael to take over for him as Batman. I’m like, “Hello! What am I? Chopped liver?” Guess I don’t have enough testosterone to be asked to fill in, even temporarily.

I tracked Catwoman here to this museum. I read every clue, sniffed out every trail and did work no one will ever know of. I deduced her whereabouts on this night, and hit the nail on the proverbial head.

Bingo! Here she is, ripe for the taking. I’d like to see Robin do that. Tim Drake’s the new Robin. Jason, the old one got killed by the Joker, reminding us all what a serious business this is. Ain’t for sissies.

The original Robin, Dick Grayson, calls himself Nightwing now. Works out of Bludhaven, that cesspool of a town just down the road. Tim, the current Robin, is a real sweetheart, but for a superhero, he sure is a klutz.

Young and dumb, and full of.. .weIl, never mind. But Bruce Wayne holds all the Bat-cards. The Big Bat. He’s the boss. Billionaire. That’s with a “B.” Buys us all these wonderful crimefighting toys. The latest in gadgets, gimmicks, and computers. The CIA has nothing on us. Batman’s got to be pushing forty and seems to be quicker and tougher every year. What amazing physical prowess! I’ve never seen .anyone that fast-except Superman, and he’s got all those powers.

Some of the local bad guys think Batman isn’t human. I think they’re right. He’s a real inhuman bastard sometimes, a real angry and cold-blooded SOB. But then I didn’t watch my parents as a child get mowed down by a street punk. Still, he’s got his nerve complaining about the Huntress’ temper.

Huntress, Helena Bertinelli, was orphaned after a mob hit. Her folks were Mafia. We won’t go there. Meanwhile, I play second class citizen. Bat “girl.” Twenty-five years old, and I’m not even a “Batwoman.” Second string. Well, if I’m second string, I’m second string. Whatever you say, Boss Bruce Wayne. Tonight I catch your little kitty cat, the one you can’t bring yourself to take in, even when you do catch her. Maybe you love her, Bats. Finally found someone as whacky as you are.

Cat and Bat. Match made in heaven. I look down into the museum from my perch on the skylight. Moonlight fills the museum through the skylight. I can see pretty clear in there. That’s it, Kitty. Pull the diamond out. Commit the crime. I need a reason. Selena Kyle has been a pest more than anything. She’s a thief, and she’s mental, but she’s no psychopath like other crazies in this town, like the Joker and the Penguin. And that creep Two Face. Ugh! Don’t get me started.

Catwoman’s never killed and probably never will. She likes nice things and collects anything cat-related of great value. Tonight it’s the Catspaw Diamond on display at the Kane Museum of Art, and she’s starting to irritate some really important people with all these thefts recently. Important people with big money and influence who came down on Daddy with a lot of pressure. It’s not easy being Police Commissioner, I can see the weight on Daddy’s face. It creases his brow and lines his forehead. Now he wants Catwoman arrested so he can get to the business of stopping the real whackos out there. He doesn’t know I’m Batgirl, and I’m sure he would go ballistic if he knew I were out here nights risking life and limb and whatever.

Gotham’s a big city. There were no less than fourteen cat-related valuables ar ound town tonight, and it took some tricky detective work to deduce Catwoman’s target tonight. She’s a smart kitty, she was even cagey enough to send out a few diversions, which the Boy Wonder fell for. He’s over at the Egyptian Feline Statue exhibit at the State Building, looking at nothing but two ancient cat statues right now. Valuable statues, but not to her. Robin thinks like a man. Catwoman is a woman; that, and hard work, is why I found her tonight going after this diamond. After all, diamonds are a girl’s best friend. And that’s why I’m going to catch her tonight.

I check my mask. Utility belt. I pull out my trusty spring-loaded retractable center punch to crack the glass open. Yes, that’s how we do it. Old superhero trick I learned at the feet of the aforementioned Bat-master.

I feel the old familiar butterflies in my tummy. Rope is anchored to the middle spike of the iron glass panes. It should carry me to the floor, forty feet below. If not, I’m ‘floor pizza.’ Here goes.

I break the window and take the big leap. She is taming her head upward at all the clatter and broken glass. I grasp the rope tightly as I swoop down on her. I should land smoothly and easily, ten feet from her. All’s well, except for the element of surprise. She looks up at me, with the unconcerned ease of a woman leaning out her window to check for a cat on her roof. I look at her as I make a soft landing. We can see each other clearly in the moonglow; we are both used to the night. She is tall, thin, and well endowed with feminine curves that define the skin tight cat-suit in only the most sensual ways. She could be a model, instead of doing this nonsense. Her face is masked with a cowl similar to mine, except the ears are wider like a cat. Dark unruly hair billows out of the back of her cowl, in contrast to my all too frizzy red mane, which some idiots have suggested is a wig. Sure. Fight these animals out here in a wig and see how long it stays on your head.

Maybe that Hollywood version of Batman in the sixties. Millionare Adam West was Batman, his ward Burt Ward-gimmmeabreak!-was Robin. Absurd. Bruce Wayne hated that silly show. Not a very flattering imitation, after all he’d done for Gotham. Hollywood mocking him, and Batgirl,too. This is Gotham, not Hollywood. New century. The real world. Here, Bruce Wayne is Batman, and we’ve had three Robins, and even an ‘Azrael’ already.

Catwoman’s outfit is deep violet, Two seconds have passed since I landed. We lock eye contact. The outfit looks good on her. Very good. Hip high boots. Her eyes are piercing green and her lips are full, deep red. And she’s not even wearing make-up. No wonder Batman’s attracted to her. Four seconds.

I see her right eyebrow lift under her mask. “You’re paying for that window, I’m sure not,” she says. Humour and poise. I like that.

“I’m not here about a window, Selena.” I try to sound tough, confident.

“Ah, the girly-bat. The lady bat. I’ve heard of you,” she says. “I didn’t think you were real. Most women are too smart to get into this kind of work.”

“But look at you,” she says, “too dumb to know that men should be doing the heavy lifting.”

“I’m here to put a stop to your lifting, Selina. Put the diamond back in the case!”

She looks me up and then down. “Very cute, I like the cape. What are you,” she asks, “his concubine?”

The nerve! I can’t believe she said that! Oh, please. Sexism from a woman.

“Or are you a relative of his?” She’s ignoring me completely. “Hmmmm.. .I don’t see a family resemblance, hard to tell though, behind that mask. Still even he, the great Batman, has.. .needs, shall we say. But I can’t picture him married. At least I hope he’s not. Are you his little sex toy, his sex kitten?”

She’s trying to rattle me but I have to stay calm. She’s more sophisticated and poised than I thought. Taller, too.

“I’ll tell you what, YOU put it back.” She tosses the baseball-sized diamond at me. The glimmer and beauty of it catch my eye as it comes to me. The millisecond distraction is all she needs. She cracks her bullwhip fast and tight around my neck. I think I hear the diamond clatter to the floor. The pain grips my neck hard, and shivers and tingles up and down my spine. I gasp for air, but there is no air.

My whole body is convulsing up and down, jerking and twitching. Strange “awk” and gagging sounds coming involuntarily from my throat, louder and louder. Air, please, please. Air. I am dry heaving, my chest is quivering and shaking and convulsing as if I need to vomit but can’t. Choking. She pulls my head into the wing of her armpit. My God, I’m going to die! Right here. Right now. Daddy, please help me! Mom…! love you…

“I could just end this charade right now,” she teases. She grabs my mask under the left eye. She lifts the eyeflap up. My chest heaves forward. I’m nauseated.

“What price, a secret identity?” she says. She puts the eyeflap back down.

My throat. Searing pain. I don’t care about the damn mask, take it, rip the damn thing off my face. I just want to breathe air again. My body is shaking, trembling. I could get brain damage. Doesn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway. Note to self: she’s mental, and she’s a psychopath!

She tears my cape off my neck and tosses it across the room. I can feel my mask-still in place. So what, the silly mask. I’d give up Batman and Superman’s secret identity right now just to be free of this pain. He’s got to be Clark Kent, Lois is dumb not to know that. He should marry that-”AWK! HOK! G-AA-AH-AH, SELINA, PLEASE!! STOP YOU’RE NOT A KILLER! DON’T,” I beg and plead. I feel ashamed, but I want to live.

Selina casually untwirls me from the bullwhip with one quick spin and lets me drop to the floor. I gasp deeply for loud breaths like a starved animal hear my voice behind each breath I take in. I cough several times. I’m gagging now, I almost puke, heaving. More coughs and gagging. I get up, but I’m staggering. She cracks the whip on me, it stings my leg, it knocks me back to the floor. My costume torn. She cracks the whip again on my crotch and my hip; more rips and cuts on the fabric, then she stings my stomach, my arm, and my leg. I scream out in terrified, wrenching pain. Like a swarm of wasps, stinging me all over!

“PLEASE! STOP, PLEASE,” I scream out loud. I’m bellowing at the top of my lungs. I am crying like a baby. Tears stream from under my mask, down my cheeks. I turn over to relieve the pain but she cracks my rear-end several times, my costume is being ripped td shreds. I feel my butt cheeks exposed, all the way up to my thong, my lower back above my tailbone. I hear her hideous laugh. She’s enjoying this. She pops it across my back, I curve my back and reach around to stop the pain. I turn over and she cracks the whip on my chest, using the bat ensignia as a target, for two straight shots on my bosom. The bat ensignia is shredded, my bra is exposed. My torso’s on fire!

“Oh,Oh! Stoppit, please, oh no, dont, I’m begging…,” I cry out, humiliated. Unbearable pain. Crying like a child. Begging and pleading for her to stop. She laughs. I’m numb. I can’t feel my chest. I’m crying. Tears. I want to die.

She goes to the adjoining room door. She presses buttons on the alarm code. The door opens. She really knows her way around here. I take the chance to stand up. Unsteady. Wobbly. Like a drunk. She comes back on the room. What’s in her hand? A cat? My God! It’s a baby tiger!

“I brought some friends with me to help me tonight,” Catwoman says, “here, little Batgal, pet my little pussy!” She lobs the little tiger at my face, laughing at her own innuendo comment about pussy. The animal grabs my mask, its claws are sunk into my cowl. I fight to get it off. It’s going to unmask me right here in front of Catwoman and all these security cameras. His paws are tearing the cowl. The tiger’s back feet dig past the shreds of my ripped costume and into my bra. No! Tore my bra right in two! He’s scratching harder now. Sharp claws. He hooks the top of my batmask with a paw. I let him back up along the floor with it in his paw. I follow him on all fours. Easy, Kitty. I need this mask. Catwoman laughs, spooking the baby tiger. Catwoman’s gaze bears down as my face gets closer and closer to being exposed. She cheers the tiger for a job well done. My face, my secret identity is being exposed! She lets out another loud laugh. I am crawling cautiously along the floor with the baby tiger. Then the animal quickly jerks his paw away, pulling my mask up over my face, past my eyebrows. I’ve been unmasked in fromt of Catwoman!!! She’s laughing like a madwoman now. The mask is caught on its paw, and the baby tiger gives one more tug. I watch helpless as its sharp claws rip the mask completely off my face!

“My mask,” I shout. I try not to react, but I feel my eyes open wide in shock! That mask is like a second skin to me out here. Naked now, bare. I put my hands to my face. Oh no! Batgirl’s face exposed in public for the first time ever-Bruce won’t like this! Catwoman lets out a loud, raunchy cheer. She’s got me-knows what I look like. I lie back, unmasked.

I look down. Omigod!! I’m bare-chested! More laughs from Selina.I quickly turn over and embrace my chest with my arms. Embarrassing. She laughs even louder. Welts on my skin from the whipping. The camera’s got me too. It’s over. Maybe not. Cameras are often grainy black and white, with only the moon for light. I’m on all fours now more like all threes, one arm is across my sore bosom. Now I’m really mad. I might as well give my best shot before going down. I get up and pull a tiny grapple hook from my belt. I wasn’t thinking very fast earlier. Now I make up for it. I reach into my belt and shoot a tiny bat grapple at her. She reacts with shock as it hits hard, several inches below her belly button, not far above her crotch. It digs in, and grapples her skin! I can see her belly button in the torn costume. She looks down, and then looks into my eyes and opens her legs as she falls back onto the floor, stunned and bewildered.

“No, don’t.” Her voice is whimpering, pleading.

The pain forces her to stay on the floor. I was aiming for her arm, but my aim is off. Lucky to hit her at all the shape I’m in. I pull her to me. She is shocked and angry, cursing me and threatening to reveal my identity.

“Get this damn thing off me,” she screams. “I’ll tell the world I unmasked Batgirl!”

But I can tell she doesn’t know who I am. An assistant district attorney is not very famous. Most Gothamites don’t even know who the DA is, some couldn’t even name the President if you showed them his picture. Barbara Gordon may run for Congress one day, but I want to kick this kitty’s butt first. Catwoman is on her back, legs open screaming her loud catwail. I pull her to me as her hips give in and thrust upward and outward, one painful movement at a time, yielding to the hook just above her spreadeagle crotch. The costume’s material is shredding in a wider area around and below her navel. Tables turned now.

“Stop, please, it hurts,” she begs. “You’re going to scar me-stop, please!” Every woman’s fear-the scar; explain that one, Selina, to whatever slime it is you crawl in bed with at night. I have her. She’s sliding her butt along the floor to avoid the pain, her legs are spreadeagle, crawfishing upside down toward me, eyes pleading. When she touches the hook, I yank and make more pain for her. She tries to stop coming forward, but I fish her to me. I yell at her like a farmer prodding a stubborn mule.

“Move it! Selina.”

“OK, OK, I’m moving,” she pleads. She’s lost all that tough Catwoman front she had put up. I won’t fall for it next time.

“You’re just a scared little kitty, now aren’t you?” I can see her exposed crotch as she eases closer. I try not to sneak a peek at her seductive-looking womanhood, but I’m human. I grab a piece of my torn costume from the floor and cover her between her legs. Nothing at all on underneath; that’s Selina.

I wrap her in batrope and handcuffs Houdini couldn’t get out of. She casts an angry glare into my unmasked face .as she struggles to free herself. I grab my palm pilot from my utility belt and page the Batcave. It’s 3AM, and I know Bruce will get the message in minutes, he’s usually awake nearly all night, even if he’s not out as Batman.

I grab my cape from the floor and tie it on. I make a batcowl from my shirt. My bike is a block away. I know that the old guy, the Big Bat will be proud of me. But he would never admit it.

END