That dastardly puce kryptonite flooding the streets of Metropolis!
When he's gone to sleep, Jimmy Olsen had been alone. As the first rays of morning woke him, he became aware of something wrapped around his arm, purring like a jet engine.
"Ugh. Again? Where are criminals even getting this stuff from?" he groaned.
It was the fourth time Superman had found his way to Jimmy's apartment like a lost kitten, looking for a place to sleep off the effects of the kryptonite.
His phone began vibrating on the nightstand. No doubt Clark had failed to show up for work again. Perry White would be calling to scream bloody murder down the phoneline and drag him in early. As Jimmy stretched for the phone, the feline mewled her complaint in her sleep.
"I gotta go to work, buddy," he whispered, trying to extricate his arm gently from the sleeping creature.
Ever so slightly, she tightened her grip. The tendons in his shoulder creaked. Jimmy grunted in pain, feeling as fragile as an egg in a hydraulic press, while his phone vibrated off the nightstand.
"Or we could just lie here. That's fine too," he conceded, staring at the ceiling. "I am so fired."