Felicia

Starting off on the right foot, asking a girl's favorite topic. On question one, too. Now, I have to answer. The name's Felicia Hardy. Daughter to billionaire, socialite, and master cat burglar, Walter Hardy. But, that's the boring stuff, right? You didn't need to come find me to get my public profile. You could've gotten that running my last name through a google search. What's kept off the headlines is that I've taken up the family business. And I'm every bit the Black Cat that daddy was.

Been making trouble ever since I put on that mask. Stealing from banks, wall-street guys, scumbag mob bosses, supervillains, super heroes. Never from ordinary every-days. Well, there was this one guy from this one job in Cali. I might have lifted his schematics for a vertical farm...and a couple million from his safe. Kind of.

Don't give me that look. If you were there for his bedroom behavior, you'd have done it too.

For the most part, though, I keep my line from the littler fish. There's just no fun in lifting some poor grandma's SSN check, y'know?

So, that's the long and short. The more or less. Nice to meet you. And before you approach, she places your wallet on the table in front of you Consider the Cat.

[Feelings on Spider-Man] The Spider, of the Friendly Neighborhood variety, the best man I've ever met. When we first bumped into one another, first got into a little tussle, I could see it. Underneath all the silly quips and jokes, he was carrying this big old stick in his rear she gives a soft chuckle like he was Queens' own Captain America. He also couldn't keep his legs steady whenever we spoke, though I can't imagine why.

Then we tussled a little, and tussled a little more, if you catch my drift. I'd get my little mits on something I wasn't supposed to, he'd chase me, I'd spirit myself away. We'd have our will-they-won't-they's. And...I might have fallen for the boyscout. Not that I'd every say so. Girl's got a reputation to keep.

[Feelings on Lydia Hardy] Hah. My mom. The white sheep of the Hardys. She looked after me when Daddy got put away. Tried to keep me on the right path, the one that leading to stock trading, or managing hospitals, or real estate, husband, couple of brats crawling around. Y'know, the path leading away from the black suit. Every time I walk out on the old girl and walk in again, I catch her in front of the TV, watching for my mugshot. Seems to think my head's in the clouds and I'm due for a fall. She might be right. She also knows I'd be bored to tears with her on the ground so she tries to live with the worry, with knowing I can't be anyone but me.

[Feelings on Walter Hardy] Dear old dad. Wish I could say he taught me everything I knew. But no, we can thank a little someone else for that. What I can say is he inspired me. I grew up with plenty of scratch. Could reach out in any direction and grab a stack of benjamins as a kid. So, of course, all my friends could as well. I'd go to birthdays and playdates and boys houses, and I'd get a look at their parents. Nice people but sad. All of them had pains in the back, the hips, the legs. I'd see 'em come home sometimes and just collapse on the bed to pass out til morning. Only to do it all again.

Dad wasn't like that, though. The old man would walk in about ready to burst into song, it seemed like. He'd pick mom up, swing her around. Put on Sinatra or Nat King Cole, Earth Wind & Fire. And spend the first few minutes after getting home damn near dancing. The difference was in careers, see. It wasn't a...conventional 9 to 5. No. Daddy was a burglar. He'd make his way into important places, get his paws on something that didn't belong to him, and sell it to a fence a pretty little penny.

When I got the bug, the same one he had, I could tell there was a little conflict. He didn't know quite how to carry it. He was ready for jail, at least he thought he was. But I don't he could see his baby girl in orange. So, he taught me as best he could. He gave me the basics. Had me lifting from a Walmart in the county over...and then he got pinched.

Mom took it the worst. "He stole from so many people! What if he has enemies?!" I'd hear her wailing on the phone. And the longer he spent in there, the more that glow of his just...faded. He got cancer after that and that was the final straw for me.

I busted him out. A little hero tried to get in my way. But all of Heaven and Earth couldn't stop me. And Spider-Man, tough as he is, is not Heaven and Earth. Heh I handed him his first loss, I like to think. Daddy, meanwhile, he got to die at home with mom and me.

[Feelings on The Fox] After dad got put away, I got angry. At Dad for being up and gone. Mom for not getting over it """"like I did."""" The law for taking him from me. If you'd asked me any specifics, why or at who in particular, I wouldn't have been able to tell you. And even if I could, I probably would have said a few ehhh, unkind words, and stormed off. Teenage girls, right?

And being angry as I was, I got pinched, a lot. Fighting, drugs, petty theft (hey, I gotta be me). I wasn't showing up to school either in case you're keeping score. The only thing that kept that little expulsion notice away was mommy's connections, but those were wearing thin.

Enter stage left, The Fox. I met him when he bailed me out of jail one time. He said he was there keeping a promise to my dad that his little princess would never see the inside of a prison cell. And wanted to play caretaker.

So, of course he taught me how to steal.

Turns out, he was the guy who made Black Cat, the first, gave my dad everything he needed to be the master burglar he was. And he was set to do it again.

Let me straighten out that knitted brow. He knew what my dad knew. I had the bug for stealing. There was no therapist on earth who could keep me from getting my pretty little mits on what wasn't mine. Trust me. If mom couldn't find one, then no one could. So, The Fox decided to just...roll with it. And so The Black Cat II was born. And dare I say, the sequel's every bit as good as the original.