Part Two:
A tap-tap at the window woke Jimmy Olsen. Eighteen floors up, there was nobody else it could be. “The latch is unlocked. Let yourself in,” he murmured groggily. When you were best friends with Superman, strange occurrences became the norm.
A cold breeze blew through the room. A weight settled on the end of the bed. Something warm and furry brushed against his foot. Jimmy cracked an eyelid to look down at a female, feline creature kneading the blankets anxiously. She padded around in circles until at last she settled down, nose-to-tail, a warm weight on his feet.
“What shade of kryptonite was it this time?” Jimmy asked.
“Puce,” Superman said glumly, resting his head on the blanket over Jimmy’s thigh, his bright blue, slitted eyes shining up at him in the dark.
“That’s a new one.” Jimmy yawned. He lay back and closed his eyes, reaching down to run his fingers through his catgirlified friend's thick fur. Clark began to purr. “Speak to you in the morning.”