Disclaimer: I own no part of the DCU.

Author's note: This is a CATfic (www. catverse. com) which takes place in the summer of 2014, early August, after "Another Year Older" and before a story with the working title "Deathrace 2000." The original reasons for this placement are no longer valid, but the placement still stands.

For anyone wondering about "Genesis," it is on hiatus until such time as I feel confident writing the Mad Hatter's dialogue, but it will be finished.

This is for my two favorite recent birthday girls, especially Techie, because I think this was at least half her idea.

Stray CAT Strut

"Happy Birthday, Squishykins!"

Eyes narrowed, Jonathan Crane put down his newspaper to glare at the three women who had dared to interrupt a rare moment of relaxation. And for what? His birthday was three months away, and they knew it.

"What do you want?"

"Happy birthday," Techie repeated. She popped her thumb in her mouth, and managed to smirk at him just the same.

Was that butter cream frosting she was licking off her fingers? There was a smudge of flour on the Captain's cheek, and a tinge of red on Al's face that could only be from a mist of someone else's blood.

"What have you been baking?"

They all giggled.

"Birthday cake."

"It's not my birthday."

"It's got to be someone's birthday. Don't you want to celebrate?"

He raised the paper again.

"No."

The girls stayed silent for a moment, watching him. He refused to look up.

They came to a simultaneous decision. Al and Techie grabbed the front legs of his chair and yanked, tipping him over backwards. The Captain caught the back of the chair before he could hit the floor, and the three of them carried him toward the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" He clutched at the chair's arms as he lurched sideways. If they dropped him—

"Relax, twitchy. You act like we'd really let you fall, silly boy."

"If you don't want to be manhandled, choose a heavier piece of furniture next time," the Captain added.

"I am not in the mood for this."

"You're never in the mood," said Al. "And I'm getting tired of waiting." They set the chair down at the top of the stairs that led down to his lab.

"You might want to walk from here. I wouldn't trust our balance too much if I were you," the Captain advised. "I mean, I remember one time when Mum took me and Meimei to the mall, and she put me in charge of minding the baby—do you have any idea how hard it is to shield a squirmy six-month-old with your body when you're tumbling down an escalator?"

"I've never tried it," he said dryly, refusing to smile at the image of the girl falling...and falling...and falling. "Are you ready to leave me alone now?"

"Ha. Good one, Squish. Now are we going to have to push you down the stairs, or what?"

"Don't bother. Could you make this quick? I was hoping to give myself a root canal by noon."

"And they say you're a humorless old stick in the mud." They followed him down the stairs.

There in the middle of his lab was a gigantic cake, nearly as tall as he was.

"What in God's name have you done this time?" he muttered. As usual, they took his apprehension as a compliment.

"We baked!" said Techie. Al hugged him from behind.

"I added the cream filling!"

It was then that he decided he wanted nothing to do with this cake.

"I'll be going back upstairs now," he said. "Try not to contaminate anything when the cake explodes."

"Who said it was an exploding cake?"

Oh, sure. As if anything those three touched could possibly not explode, whether they meant it to or not.

"Please just let us cut the cake," said Al. "Please? We did a really good job on this one, I swear."

"Fine, do it," he snapped. "Just stop whining at me."

"Jawohl!" She picked up the shovel one of them had left lying against the wall.

"Al, wait a minute! You can't cut the cake with a shovel! This time."

"Why not?"

"Cream filling," Techie reminded her.

"Fine." She leaned on the shovel like a cane, evoking images of the Riddler at his most nonchalant. Jonathan stifled a sigh of annoyance.

"Is there someone in the cake?" he asked. They giggled. "Is it a stripper?"

"Well…sort of."

Oh, for the love of—

"Did you get me a prostitute?"

The girls hesitated, smiling.

Then Al shouted, "Surprise!" and they ran for the stairs. He spent an inordinate amount of time staring after they slammed the door. Then, reluctantly, he turned his attention to the cake.

First he picked up the shovel Al had dropped. He didn't think he needed to worry about being attacked by the cream filling, but he could never be too careful.

When he poked at the cake, it crumpled, caving in on itself. Well, he wasn't surprised that their creation lacked structural integrity. The girls' plans and execution only rarely matched up. He poked at the mess again. It squirmed.

"Mmph!"

All right, so there was definitely a person in there. He poked it harder.

"Mmmph!"

It was a woman, and she was mad. Well, he was going to have to do something about that, wasn't he?

He started to put on his mask. But before he could quite get it over his head, the cake completely caved in on itself.

Jonathan stumbled back, fumbling for some means of defending himself. All he could see was a pair of bright red knee-high boots flying at his chest.

His mind said "Wonder Woman" as she knocked him to the ground, pinning him, knees cracking the cement on either side of his face. Curly black hair and a gold rope smacked him in the face as she leaned over him, eyes huge and wild. Jonathan stared up at her, frozen.

She grinned at him, a savage, animal-like baring of the blood-hungry fangs. He tried to breathe, and couldn't. She was sitting on his chest, wiggling back and forth, holding him completely immobile between her thighs.

"I didn't do it…"

She growled at him, an inhuman sound. Belatedly, he realized that her fierce grin did nothing to touch her heavily glazed eyes. Her hands were tied together at the wrists, clasped as if she were praying, praying down to him. Her lips were tinted faintly green.

"Are you going to kill me?" He didn't even realize he was asking under the words had left his mouth. Was she? Was she going to crush him between her legs like a thighmaster?

What had the girls been thinking?