CHAPTER 5

MADDER THAN A WET CAT

It didn’t matter whether or not Batman thought Catwoman had a point that cats shouldn’t be owned. Once she tried to blackmail Gotham City, she had to be brought to justice.

The problem was finding her. She was certainly in Gotham, not Kathmandu. Batman had run out of ways to try to track her from the Batcave. He would prefer to locate her before her ultimatum expired at midnight.

It was time to hit the streets and gather what information he could in the criminal underworld.

Batman started in Crown Point, the most crime-ridden neighborhood in the city, certain that one of the creeps there would have heard about Catwoman’s whereabouts. But no matter which criminal he questioned, nobody had any useful information.

He came up empty in the mob den called the Cauldron. He found no trace of Catwoman in Crime Alley, either. She hadn’t even set up a hideout in Toxic Acres, the poisoned suburb where criminals often laid low.

Somehow Catwoman had covered her tracks completely.

Bothered, Batman returned to the Batcave a few minutes before midnight. It frustrated him that Catwoman could hide so well in his city.

At midnight, Batman turned his attention to the TV. The mayor’s emergency press conference was broadcast on all of the networks.

The mayor of Gotham strode out to the podium set up at City Hall in front of the media.

The mayor got right to the point. “We are sympathetic to Catwoman’s concern for the legal status of cats in our city,” he said. “But if she wants the law to change, she must work within the law and follow our legal process. We cannot and will not be swayed by criminal threats.”

The press erupted with questions, but the mayor raised his hands for silence. “I will answer some questions,” he said, “but first I have a recommendation for our citizens with cats. Put your pets in carriers for the night, so that Catwoman cannot steal them —”

The mayor was interrupted by a loud, jangling, rattling sound. It echoed at top volume out of every TV set, radio, MP3 player, and computer speaker in the city. Cringing at the painful sound, the mayor tried to shout further instructions. The sistrum’s rattle drowned him out.

In the Batcave, the cat Alfred had named Gladys sat up straight. Her ears perked up. She let out a loud yowl and leaped into motion, racing for the hidden exit.

Batman let her go. With the microchip in her collar, he could follow her with a GPS unit.

He set off after Gladys on the Batcycle, tracking her on a map on the cycle’s computer screen.

The streets were full of cats, all rushing in the same direction. Batman had to swerve to avoid hitting some with his Batcycle. With the rivers of cats bounding toward the same single location, Batman didn’t even need to track Gladys. He didn’t understand how Catwoman was hoping to avoid capture — the torrent of converging cats would pinpoint her hideout precisely.

Batman followed the running parade of cats into the East End of Gotham City.

They passed a squad of police cars along the way that were heading in the same direction. The East End had been one of the worst areas of the city. However, recently it had been improving due to large-scale civic projects, like new parks and a new convention center.

In fact, the cats were scurrying directly toward this new building.

The enormous building took up two city blocks, and had only been completed in the past month. It hadn’t even been officially used yet, but was fully operational.

The front doors were wide open, and the cats were streaming inside.

Batman pulled to a stop in front of the convention center.

He was amazed by the spectacle of thousands of cats scrambling to enter the building.

It was estimated that more than a million cats lived in Gotham, so if ten percent answered Catwoman’s summons with the sistrum, more than a hundred thousand cats were approaching the building or were already inside. And the percentage might be much higher.

The police cars stopped behind Batman’s cycle. Commissioner Gordon hurried out to join Batman. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Gordon said. “Cats everywhere.”

“Something for the history books,” replied Batman.

Commissioner Gordon shook his head.

“How can we get in there?” Gordon asked. “She’s surrounded by her own personal cat army. And we can’t use tear gas or hurt the cats in any way. Catwoman was right about one thing — these cats are owned by the citizens of Gotham. Even if it was humane to attack innocent cats, we’re talking about pet owners suing the city if any are harmed. I don’t like this at all.”

“I’ll handle it,” Batman growled.

He knew the layout of the new convention center — Wayne Enterprises had been involved in the construction. Using his grapnel gun, Batman shot a wire up to the roof and then quickly scaled the side of the building. When he reached the top, he took firm hold of the wire and leaped off, swinging himself toward a huge wall of glass.

Boots first, Batman bashed through the pane, shards exploding all around him. He launched into the center’s main hall and landed on top of a snack bar kiosk. Batman retracted the grappling hook wire back into its launcher.

The wide, open room was packed with cats. As he had estimated, it wasn’t merely thousands of cats — it was hundreds of thousands of cats.

They were every breed and size and color and stripe. They were milling around the hall floor, getting into hissy spats, sleeping, playing, running back and forth, and just lazing around. The hall rang with cat noises: meows, yowls, chirps, and purrs.

In the center of it all, Catwoman perched on the sofa of a raised platform, looking radiant and pleased with herself.

“Welcome,” Catwoman called. “You’re too late to stop me, darling.” She raised the jeweled sistrum. “I am sitting here with the glory of the goddess Bastet in my hand, surrounded by my friends. I am feeling quite powerful right now.”

“The city will never cave in to your demands,” Batman shouted. “You’ve done nothing but hurt your cause, and now you’ve cornered yourself, Catwoman.”

“Really?” she shot back. “I have enough food for my sweeties for more than a month. Can the city hold out that long against a plague of rats?”

“I will stop this madness now,” growled Batman.

“How?” Catwoman purred. “I have you surrounded.”

Catwoman gave the sistrum a quick, sharp shake.

CLINK!

  CLINK!

    CLINK!

The rattle jangled across the convention center. All the cats around Batman’s snack kiosk began leaping up toward him. A cat can jump up to five times its own height, and the kiosk was only about seven feet high. Which meant that some cats were grabbing onto the edges, and some were landing cleanly on the snack bar roof. They jumped up from all sides.

Batman could have kicked them off the roof, one by one, but as Commissioner Gordon had said, these cats were innocent victims. He couldn’t hurt them.

In seconds, he was surrounded by hissing, arched cats threatening him with their claws.

As they began pouncing toward his boots, Batman raised his grapnel gun and shot the hook with its trailing wire up into the high rafters. He snagged a steel beam, and swung out over the ocean of snarling cats.

He had enough momentum to reach the sofa where Catwoman stood, but he never got there. As he arced near, she slung out her bullwhip and wrapped its tip around his ankle. With a surprisingly strong pull, she yanked him off the wire.

Batman tumbled into a horde of cats. They swarmed over him, screeching, howling, scratching, biting, and whacking him with their paws.

One cat wouldn’t have been a problem, nor ten cats. Batman could have brushed away a hundred cats. But he was overwhelmed by a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand cats. They buried him deep under their hot furry bodies, crushing him with their combined weight.

Smashed flat by the cats, Batman tensed with the first fleeting feelings of panic. He would suffocate under the heap in moments.

Batman had no choice but to fight back.

He curled himself into a tight ball and then sprang his limbs outward, knocking back cats in all directions.

Batman grabbed cats and hurled them from him. Their claws harmlessly scratched his Batsuit as they flung away.

Using all his might, he managed to clear enough space to pull himself to his knees. He freed his head from the attacking cats.

Then he pulled a flare gun out of his Utility Belt, took aim, and shot a blazing ball of light up into the rafters.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Batman worried that he’d missed his target.

HISSSSSSS!

A hissing noise filled the convention hall. He’d hit it — a fire detection heat sensor on the ceiling.

When burned by the hot flare, the sprinkler system soon activated.

Streams of water rained down from the ceiling all over the convention center. The cats were stunned for a second, but then they reacted in absolute horror.

They were screaming and moaning as they scrambled around, desperately trying to escape the sudden shower.

Batman grinned as the cats scampered away. Water didn’t hurt cats. They just didn’t like getting wet — at all!

Catwoman shrieked in fury, as much from being dripping wet herself as having her plan foiled. She shook the sistrum and a few cats were brave enough to confront Batman. He jumped over them or sidestepped them easily. Most of the cats were fleeing through the exits or cowering along the drier sides of the hall.

“Hand over the sistrum,” Batman insisted. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

In response, Catwoman snarled and snapped out her bullwhip. CRAAAAACK!

Batman dodged the whip’s sting and rolled toward her, leaping up when he reached the base of the sofa. He tumbled into Catwoman, knocking her off her feet.

THUD!

Catwoman sprang up again and kicked at Batman’s head. He stepped back and grabbed her foot, pulling her off balance. She scissor-kicked in the air and almost nailed him with her boot, but he ducked at the last second.

Landing on her feet, Catwoman flung herself into a back flip, hurtling toward Batman. He sidestepped and she tumbled off the sofa, dropping the sistrum.

CLACK CLACK CLACK!

It skittered across the wet floor, too far for her to reach it before Batman could.

With a scream of rage, Catwoman dashed directly at Batman, who wasn’t expecting her to charge. Instead of attacking him, she ran up his body and used his shoulders to launch herself into the air.

She grabbed onto his dangling grappling wire and swung across the convention hall. She headed for the broken window.

“Farewell, Bats!” Catwoman yelled back. “You beat me this time, but remember that a cat has nine lives — more than any bat!”

Then Catwoman dived through the window and disappeared into the night.

Batman stepped off the wet sofa and walked through the rainy convention hall toward the sistrum. He picked it up and put it into his Utility Belt.

Now that he knew what powers it held, the hero realized that the instrument was no longer safe for public display.

He felt a startling soft sensation on his leg. He glanced down and was surprised to see a small tabby rubbing against his calf. Batman bent down and picked up the friendly cat.

“We’re done here,” he told Gladys. “Let’s go home.”