Cat Conspiracy
The Cat Conspiracy
Damian Wayne had tracked assassins across continents, dismantled crime syndicates before breakfast, and fought rogue AI while still managing to ace his Latin homework.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for Danny Fenton.
Specifically, Danny Fenton and his suspicious pattern of visiting pet stores all over Gotham, emerging each time with an armful of cats.
Damian narrowed his eyes from the rooftop across the street as Danny exited The Purring Palace with five cats in various shades of tabby draped across his arms, a smug little smile on his face.
Damian’s voice was a low growl in the comms. “Grayson. I’ve got eyes on Fenton again. He’s acquired more felines. That’s the third pet store this week. Something is afoot.”
Across the city, Dick let out an exaggerated groan. “Maybe he just likes cats?”
“No one likes cats that much. Not without a nefarious purpose,” Damian replied, dead serious.
“Damian, buddy, you live with eight trained attack bats and a demon dog. Let the kid have some cats.”
“I will not rest until I uncover his scheme.”
Meanwhile, Danny Fenton was indeed up to something.
He wasn't robbing banks or raising a ghost army or even stealing Gotham's supply of tuna fish. His plan was, in fact, adorably petty.
“Here you go, Mr. Meowser,” he whispered as he tucked the newest stray into a box carefully prepared with toys, a mini litter pan, and an engraved name tag. “You’re going to love your new home. It has three fireplaces, heated floors, and a man who pretends to hate you but secretly buys you imported kibble.”
He grinned as the box closed.
Operation: Furry Revenge was going purrfectly.
After all, if Vlad Masters—billionaire fruit loop, obsessed with power, and frequent thorn in Danny’s ghostly side—was too busy dealing with the ever-growing clowder of feline freeloaders mysteriously showing up at his mansion, then he’d have zero time for evil schemes.
Better yet, Vlad hadn’t sent a ghost assassin after him in weeks. The last thing he’d screamed over the phone was, “Daniel, I am not a cat café!”—right before the line went dead and the sound of a kitten meowing played faintly in the background.
Success.
Vlad was unraveling.
He now owned no less than thirty-two cats, each with names like “Princess Fuzzums,” “Waffle,” and “Mr. Stabby.”
They appeared out of nowhere.
Well, not nowhere. Always in tidy, clearly handmade boxes, addressed to him, complete with vet records and gourmet food recommendations.
He’d tried to be mad. He’d tried to find the source. But the cats... they purred.
One had curled up on his chest and started kneading at his robe while purring like a chainsaw, and now she had a bed on his desk and he dictated business emails around her nap schedule.
He was losing the war, and the worst part? He was starting to like it.
Damian had enough.
He dropped down from a rooftop like an avenging shadow as Danny exited yet another pet store with a fluffy ginger kitten perched on his head like a crown.
“I knew it.”
Danny screamed and nearly dropped the kitten. “What the hell?! Do you practice dramatic entrances?”
“You’ve been acquiring cats for a dark purpose,” Damian said, voice cold and accusatory. “I demand to know what you’re planning.”
Danny blinked at him. Then grinned.
“Would you believe me if I said it was a long-term plan to neutralize a billionaire supervillain through the power of feline responsibility?”
Damian stared.
Danny kept going. “I call it Operation: Claw and Order. My target now owns thirty-two cats. That’s roughly thirty-one more than he emotionally admits to loving.”
“…You’re weaponizing cats.”
“Yes,” Danny said, very proud.
Damian folded his arms. “…Interesting. I approve.”
Danny blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I would’ve used snakes, but your method is arguably more insidious. If you require assistance in continuing this campaign, I can connect you with Selina Kyle. She has... resources.”
Danny cackled. “Oh my god, is this what friendship feels like?”
“No,” Damian said immediately. “…But I’ll help deliver the next batch.”
And just like that, Gotham’s weirdest alliance was born: the half-ghost boy with a vengeance plan powered by kittens, and the Bat’s youngest, most terrifying son.
Vlad never knew what hit him.
But his cats were very well-fed.
