Ignoring his wails, Selina put him in the box and closed it. A paw thrust through the cracks, slashing viciously. When that failed, Selina heard him attack the corrugated cardboard. Guessing that she had about a half hour before he escaped, Selina turned her attention to getting herself ready for a free dinner at the mission.
Selina was most comfortable in the costume draped across the unmade bed. Sheathed in black, hidden behind a mask, and defended by a set of razor-edged steel claw mounted in metal caps that were, themselves, somehow built into the costume’s gloves, Selina ceased to be Selina. She became Catwoman. Viewed through a mask’s eyeholes, the world was simple. Past and future were unimportant compared to the wants and needs of the present. The risks were great. Selina needed only to glance at the kitten’s arm stretching desperately through the cardboard to understand how great.
Catwoman had her wits, her agility, her pride, and her determination—nothing more. She lived for herself, by herself, without illusions.
Having no illusions meant, at the very least, that the costume went back under the bed. If she wanted that free meal, she’d have to face the sisters as herself. Standing in her underwear before the haphazard piles spilling out of the closet and bureau, Selina heard a stern chorus from the depths of her past.
Look at yourself . . . Stand up straight. Don’t fidget. Dress like a lady. Act like a lady. You’re not leaving this house dressed like that. You’re cheap, Selina Kyle. You’ll get in trouble. You’ll get what you deserve. Bitch. Whore. You’ll wind up in a gutter. Do you hear me, Selina Kyle? Look at me when I’m talking to you!