Chapter 798 "Batman's Mental State"
"Jerry, Jerry, look at my necklace! Isn't it nice?" Catwoman exclaimed excitedly as soon as he entered the room.
"It's pretty. Where did you steal such a big pearl necklace? Did you rob a jewelry store again?" Jerry asked casually, glancing at the necklace.
The pearl necklace around Catwoman's neck was very valuable, not something an ordinary person could own.
"Robbery? I haven't done such amateurish things for a long time. I found this in the room of the richest playboy in Gotham tonight. There were plenty of traps in his room, but I dealt with them easily," Catwoman said, raising her chin proudly.
"The richest playboy in Gotham? You're not talking about Bruce Wayne, are you?" Jerry asked, stunned.
Catwoman nodded immediately. "Of course! I've done my research. This guy is the richest playboy in all of Gotham, changing girlfriends every day. He's a typical scumbag. I hate scumbags the most. If I don't steal from him, who else would I steal from?"
"Well, then he might be having a miserable day today," Jerry said, scratching his chin. He didn't dwell on it too much and jumped into a cardboard box in the room. "I'm going to start practicing, don't disturb me!"
Since becoming a cat, Jerry had developed a peculiar preference for practicing in empty spaces over comfortable sofas.
Catwoman watched as Jerry settled in for practice. She sighed, took off her clothes, headed to the bathroom for a shower, and then went to bed.
Meanwhile, Batman, still reeling from his recent experience, returned to his mansion. He vividly remembered being transformed into a cat for two minutes but had been unable to control his actions, operating purely on instinct. The experience left him with a psychological shadow.
"Master, you're back. Everything is ready for your bath," Alfred said, his white hair gleaming as he looked at Bruce with concern.
Seeing Bruce so exhausted and knowing the toll his nightly activities took on him, Alfred felt a pang of distress. He had never expected Bruce to grow up and fight crime every night, often getting hurt in the process.
"Alfred, do you believe a cat can talk?" Bruce asked, still trying to process the night's events.
"Cats can talk? Do you mean like Tom?" Alfred responded after a pause, referring to the famous cartoon character.
Bruce waved his hand. "No, not the blue cartoon cat. This one looked like a tabby, just a bit bigger than my palm, probably only one or two months old."
"Master, did you hurt your head during the fight today?" Alfred asked anxiously, stepping forward to check Bruce's head.
Bruce stopped him and said helplessly, "No, Alfred, I'm fine. I'll wash up and get some sleep. I'll explain everything tomorrow."
He didn't know how to begin explaining the night's bizarre events.
He decided to show Alfred the relevant videos the next day but planned to omit certain details about his behavior while he was transformed.
"Alright, then. Rest well. I won't disturb you," Alfred said, nodding with relief as he saw no injuries on Bruce's head. He left the room.
However, not long after, Alfred picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Contact the pet store in the city and see if they have any tabby cats for sale.
Yes, a tabby cat. Make sure it's just a kitten, the size of a palm, one or two months old. Deliver it to the manor immediately once you find one."
After ending the call, Alfred muttered to himself, "I didn't expect the young master to take an interest in cats. That's good. Keeping a cat can help alleviate anxiety and reduce stress."
In Alfred's view, since Bruce returned and became Batman, it seemed like the fire of vengeance in his heart had never dwindled. Becoming Batman was just another outlet for his pent-up emotions.
He was deeply concerned about Bruce's well-being. Having served the Wayne family for three generations, he regarded Bruce as his own child. What he wished for most was for Bruce to find peace, marry, have children, and lead a happy life—not to spend every night as Batman, risking his life against criminals.
Perhaps having a cat around could help Bruce find some tranquility.
"Is magic really a thing in this world?" Bruce, dressed in pajamas and sipping on his finest red wine after a shower, pondered over how to handle the magical cat if it appeared again.
Just as he was grappling with this question, his gaze fell upon the safe across the room, and he froze.
"Damn, it stole something from my own home!" Bruce exclaimed.
He noticed that his securely locked safe now had a noticeable gap, indicating that it had been tampered with and left slightly ajar.
After conducting a thorough search, Bruce realized that his grandmother's cherished pearl necklace was missing.
As the cousin of Gotham City's notorious vigilante Batman, being robbed in his own home seemed absurd to Bruce.
"Alright, calm down. The necklace isn't the priority here. What matters is figuring out how to deal with that cat and prevent it from wreaking havoc in Gotham City," Bruce muttered to himself, attempting to regain his composure and focus on devising a plan.
The following day, Bruce was roused from his slumber by the sound of a cat's cry, the result of staying up late brainstorming strategies.
Startled, he bolted upright and glanced at the table, instantly wide awake. Jumping out of bed, he grabbed a nearby chair and addressed the kitten perched on the table sternly, "It's illegal to trespass in a private residence."
Bruce hadn't anticipated that the opponent he'd spent the night strategizing against would show up at his doorstep before he could prepare. Without his bat suit or various gadgets, his chances of prevailing seemed slim.
"Master, what on earth are you doing?" Alfred, entering with milk and bread, observed Bruce in his pajamas brandishing a chair at the cat on the table, looking like he was facing a formidable foe, and couldn't help but be puzzled.
Bruce remained on high alert, using a chair as a makeshift barrier in front of him, fearing that the cat might cast a spell and transform him into a feline. Without turning his head, he urgently instructed Alfred, "Alfred, you need to leave immediately. This cat is incredibly dangerous. It possesses magical abilities!"
"Magical abilities? Master, you couldn't possibly have sustained a head injury last night. It's just a kitten I bought recently. It's barely a month and a half old and can't even catch a mouse," Alfred reassured, his concern evident as he placed a small bowl of goat milk on the table.
Bruce's expression froze as he carefully scrutinized the kitten on the table. He noticed subtle differences in its appearance compared to the one he encountered yesterday, and notably, there was no bell around its neck.
"Meow?" The kitten gazed up at Bruce with innocent eyes before happily lapping up the milk from the bowl.