Darkness shrouded Batman's mind. The last thing he remembered… falling off the building. Was he… dead? No he couldn't be dead. Not yet…
"Master Bruce…" a voice called from afar. "Master Bruce, are you okay?" The voice grew clearer. Bruce opened his eyes. He was in his master bedroom, the sheets covering him and Alfred sitting aside his bed. "Alfred…" Bruce attempted to rise out of the bed, but his abdomen was searing with pain. He looked down to see his entire chest bandaged up and his right arm in a cast.
"You fell off the building and your arm protected you from shattering your rib cage. You're actually quite lucky that you didn't die." Bruce chuckled. "Then again," he said, " How many times have close calls liked this has happened before?" Bruce flinched. It hurt to laugh.
"You have to rest, Master Bruce. In this condition, you won't be able to return to your career for about two weeks, both your night and day job." Bruce lay back down on the fluffy pillow. "What was that figure?" Alfred looked at Bruce deeply. "You mean, Catwoman?" Bruce caught Alfred's eye. "Who?"
Alfred handed him today's newspaper. On the front page was a blurry picture of a the black figure Bruce had encountered. The press was calling this mysterious "Catwoman", for the reporter described her as crawling in a feline-like fashion, and if you looked close enough at the blurry picture, you could see the mask she wore had two pointy ears that resembled that of a house cat.
"So, it's a cat-and-mouse game with this girl." Batman said.
"I advise you think about it later, Master Bruce. Now, you need rest." Bruce studied the unclear image. He would have to really to figure out a way to catch this tabby cat thief.
