The Pussy Kat Club

Bright neon lights flashed. A smoky haze seemed to spill out of the doorway. Lois Lane caught a flash of a muscled arm, eyes that seemed to reflect the light. Someone growled something like "Ya coming?" and the reporter stepped forward, the door swiftly shutting behind her.

It looked a bit like an old speakeasy. A classical wooden bar took up the entire left side of the room; padded couches the other side. Long mirrors, faded at the edges with age and where the silver had begun to darken, gave the impression of depth, but the floor was polished wood...and lingering about, in various states of undress, were catwomen.

Lois Lane had covered furry conventions, had seen all the makeup and fursuits, even the ones that people had sex in: this was something else. This was...real. Every woman, to some degree, had feline features. Fure growing over skin, tufted ears that perked up and moved, long sinuous tails that waved back and forth...and some were more catlike than others.

A lithe, tall, skinny woman with a tawny mane had six breasts running down her chest in three rows, each nipple pierced with a little ring; the black satin panties ran low on her hips on account of the tail. Another, on a couch, was black as a panther, and flexible as a circus acrobat: the reporter stared, dumbfounded, as she saw the long dark legs open in a B, shape, the spine twisted back on itself so that the oddly angular head could lap at its exposed slit. Some of the women smoked little herbal cigarettes, others drank wine...but stepping into the den of them, Lois felt at once like a mouse who had come out of its hole at the most inopportune time.

Then a heavyset cat woman came. She was shorter and fluffier than the rest, as if some great white Persian cat had poured itself into a frame-hugging red dress and pearls, the massive furry cleavage on display, the fang-filled smile almost eerily a Cheshire grin.

"Welcome, welcome my dear to the Pussy Kat Club!" The Persian smiled. One hand curled around the reporter's arm, guiding her toward the bar. "A special place for discerning customers. Please, have a drink...relax...and see if any of our ladies...interest you."

Dumbly, Lois looked at the bartender...the only man in the place, a long-jawed, slender figure with short red hair parted on either side, rather in an old-fashioned manner. He smiled in what he must have assumed to be an ingratiating manner.

"What will you have?" he asked, in a Gotham accent.