I�m good at being alone. Scratch that - I�m great at it. Self-reliance comes as naturally to me as male-pattern baldness comes to the Luther family. I even like the way it sounds: �lone wolf�. Apart from the canine reference, I like it because it denotes a pack animal that has chosen its own separate path. My life is my own, and while I�ve done some things I�m not proud of (that Commissioner Gordon business wasn�t exactly a high point) I can control my own fate. We�re big on control here in Gotham; it�s either control or Arkham, and I�ll chose sanity over the bed-bug hotel any day.

As you might have gathered, given my history, I despise predictability. There�s an old clich� about the bad girl reforming herself and finally being worthy of the hero. Make no mistake, I was a very bad girl. I lied and stole and inflicted pain. I never killed anyone, but that�s just because I never saw the percentage in it. Still, I get a little queasy when I consider my legacy as one of the greatest jewel thieves in the world will be forgotten because Old Tall Dark and Spooky and I are knockin� boots. To make it perfectly clear, I haven�t reformed for him or for anyone else. I did it for myself. I�m a cat; self-involvement and selfishness are part of the package. I�m not a hero, even though I have changed my ways. I fight for people now, rather than rob them. I fight for the ones who can�t go to the police or can�t afford a lawyer. I fight for the ones who shrink into the shadows when the Batsignal lights up the sky. I fight for my people. And now I�m fraternizing with the enemy.

It�s the lack of definition that bothers me the most, I think. Cats are survivalists; we don�t deal well with ambiguity, because what you don�t understand can kill you. I definitely don�t understand the currents between us after our little encounter at the Gotham Zoo Cat House. (I know, I know. I�m pretty sure the aviary is called the �chicken ranch�. Selina Kyle will be donating a large sum of ill-gotten greenbacks to change the name - both of them.) I know things now that I was never supposed to find out on my own. The kind of things that can only be given as a gift of trust.

I did nothing to deserve his trust, and I certainly never expected to feel this conflicted about it. My mother trusted men, and she slit her wrists when I was nine. I worry the same thing might happen to him; I have a history of hurting people. What happened yesterday in the Gotham Zoo was like being back in that bathroom twenty years ago, finding my mother�s naked, bloody body floating in our stained porcelain tub. Her eyes looked like his beneath Batman�s mask. Dead, lifeless, the pain locked away and done with. I worry about his gift of trust; I worry more about him.

So now I know who Batman is. There are people in the world who would pay dearly for that information, and I know I�ll never give it to them. I know Batman as a man I once gave up. Ten years ago, I chose the night over Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne chose the night over me. Second chances are rare in Gotham, in this city of pain and regret, and I think we�re both hungry for the opportunity to make it up to ourselves and to each other. I�m not sure if it�s love or lust or just another bad clich�, but for the first time in my life, I�m not so eager to be alone. Cats are fickle creatures. Let�s hope he, at least, has staying power.

.end.