My Cats Hate Batwoman
I love my cats. They’re a comfort when I need it—though it’s mostly me doing the hugging and them trying to escape—they give my little apartment some life. They’re part of the the family I’ve made as an adult; a family I got to choose. And while I do love my biological relatives, I’m eternally grateful the cats can’t forward me emails about family gossip I couldn’t care less about. However, there is one major point of contention in the household with me and the cats: my “Batwoman” memorabilia.
The little shits keep breaking it.
Now, I love my cats, but I also love Kate Kane. A lot. She’s my hero. Always. I have just about every comic with her in it that I could get my hands on—even sticking by her when her main series went down the toilet—because I could not, would not, give up on her. Everytime I see something new, a collectible or whatever, I buy it. I want DC to know I still love her so that maybe she’ll come back again on a regular basis someday.
So, when my first cat—the first I had as an adult, on my own, that is—Bo knocked my first Batwoman statue off the mantle? I was displeased at the betrayal. I adopted Bo from a guy I worked with in Virginia who couldn’t keep him anymore. I put a roof over his little tabby head, I bought him expensive food, I gave him his own pillow on the bed, I moved him to California with me when I transferred offices, and that was how he repaid me?! What the hell? Fortunately, the damage was minimal. A chipped finger. Fine. I let the incident slide. Then the little bastard did it again and the damage was more substantial. That’s when the truth dawned on me.
Bo was jealous of Batwoman.
Now, sadly, Bo passed away well over a year ago. But, his legacy of Batwoman hate lives on in the form of Leliana. Leliana joined the household about two years ago. I adopted her as a kitten, cuddled her, spoiled her, and created a sweet, yet demanding, adult. We’d moved to a different apartment by this point and I’d acquired a brand new, totally different and pricer, Batwoman statue. This time I made sure to keep it on a shelf in a carpeted area, not only because of cats but you never know when California’s fault lines are going to shake rattle and roll. One day, I’m reading before bed and I hear Leliana meowing. I look up and she’s climbed on the shelf where my statues and figures are. She’s right next to Batwoman. Leliana moves. Batwoman falls.
In “Star Wars,” the Sith Lords have what is known as the “rule of two.” There is always a master and an apprentice; Leliana was clearly Bo’s apprentice in the ongoing feline war against Batwoman.
Aside from chipping the spikes on Kate’s glove, the statue was intact but the point was made. Isabela, who I adopted after dear Bo passed, has yet to show an interest in any of my Kate items but I know better than to trust her. I acquired yet another new collectible, the “Bombshells” Batwoman variant, back in November. I know they’re plotting, waiting for me to drop my guard. None of my Batwoman treasures will ever be safe. Ever. They must always be watched; for one can never tell when the cats may strike.