Samantha preferred her Kattwoman identity to just plain jane Samantha Katt, tax attorney. As her red Ferrari zipped in and out of traffic, she spotted at least ten possible criminals passing her. She was late for work and she wasn’t about to let her night job interfere with her day work. Being a crime fighter might bring her a lot of highs but it wouldn’t pay the rent on that fancy new apartment she leased in downtown Gotham City.
A black Mercedes pulled out in front of her. It had a license plate of “Joker Dude” on its rump. Should she follow it or drive on into work? Her digital watch showed that her meeting with the people from Penguin Properties was over an hour away. She decided to follow the black car. This was so much more of a high than going through figures with a bunch of dirty old men, checking out her figure. That was why she wore dark conservative when she went into the meetings.
The Joker Dude turned left. She turned left, the adrenaline filling her crime-fighter brain. Batman said it wasn’t good to feel that way. He never did.
Joker Dude turned off Bruce Wayne Thoroughfare and onto Riddler Blvd. He continued until he was almost out in the country. Then he zipped into a warehouse parking lot. She passed the warehouse, labelled Joker Stuff, and drove a half mile more, then pulled off the highway and onto a dirt road.
She popped open the trunk. Before you could say “Batman and Robin” thrice, she was in her sleek black Kattwoman outfit with her tiny black boots and a mask to match. Out came her Kattcycle. She jumped on and headed back towards the warehouse with the motto painted on its side, “It’s easy to pull a joke out of your ass.” She was higher than a kite. This crime fighter stuff was so much better than the drugs her psychiatrist had prescribed.
Pulling up next to the warehouse, she parked, threw a line up to the roof and climbed quickly to the top. Landing onto the flat surface, she ran across the roof until she found a place to enter the warehouse without being seen. She lowered herself through the window and looked down on the Joker and his gang of thugs. In their midst a seven foot man stood, dressed in a moose outfit with antlers.
“So you want to help us, Mr. Bullwinkle,” she overheard the Joker saying.
“Rocky and I can kill Batman and Robin for you,” Antler Guy said.
“What makes you think I need your help?”
“You’d have killed them if you could’ve. My poisoned antlers will do the trick.”
The adrenalin of danger coursed through Kattwoman’s blood. She was so high now that she could hardly control herself. She had even wet her pants. The last time that happened she had saved Batman and Robin from Carcenoma Girl and her cancerous bite.
She had to warn Batman. But her watch was telling her that it was getting late. No time for Batman now.
She slipped back out the window and over the roof and back to her hot little Kattcycle. Soon she was back in her civilian clothes and on Bruce Wayne Thoroughfare and pulling into her office parking. It was back to her boring day as Samantha Katt, tax attorney extraordinary, and the dull work of debits and credits. Saving the world would have to wait.