As the curtain slowly rose, all eyes fell on centrestage, where a beautiful young woman lay draped across one of three red velvet chaise longues. The orchestra struck up and slowly she began to move, her tight-fitting dress clinging to every curve of her body as she prowled like a cat from one chair to another. "Traffic has been known to stop for me, prices even rise and drop for me," she sang, or rather purred, the spotlight chasing her like a hungry lover. "Harry S. Truman plays bop for me ... " Nearing the edge of the stage, she suddenly turned to face her audience. Baring her fingers as if to pounce, she slowly, tantalisingly, drawled the word "monotonous", letting the sound linger seductively in the air, then dropped to the floor in a faux faint for the dramatic finale.

After this sensational appearance in the Broadway revue New Faces Of 1952, Eartha Kitt's career went stratospheric. With her sex-kitten persona and trademark "grrrowl" - a trick she picked up while learning French - she found worldwide fame as a multifaceted entertainer on stage, screen and vinyl. She had hit records with "Santa Baby" and "C'est Si Bon" ("It's So Good"), won over Hollywood in 1959's Anna Lucasta, and became a household name as Catwoman in the high-camp '60s TV series Batman.

Hers was the ultimate rags-to-riches story. Abandoned as a child, she survived an impoverished and brutal beginning in the cotton fields of America's Deep South, rising to become a global superstar and, later, an entertainment icon. She was romanced by a succession of wealthy suitors, including Revlon magnate Charles Revson - who was so besotted he created a red lipstick for her - but lasting love eluded her. Kitt's only marriage, which produced a daughter, was short-lived, and she spent her later years alone.

While Kitt had a reputation for being temperamental- one former agent said she and screen siren Zsa Zsa Gabor were the most demanding stars he'd ever met - her turbulent upbringing left her fraught with insecurities. She never stopped feeling like "an ugly duckling and an unwanted thing", and throughout her life she struggled to accept her fame and fortune. Her humiliation at being rejected as a child also made her a vociferous campaigner against injustice. She raised money for black schools in South Africa, played benefit shows for HIV/AIDS groups, and championed same-sex marriage. But when Kitt dared to criticise the Vietnam War, her outspoken views almost cost her her career. Overnight, she became an outcast and, for the next decade, was forced to work abroad, scratching out a living on the European cabaret circuit. But eventually, in true survivor spirit, Kitt made a triumphant comeback, winning over the hearts of the American public with her sizzling stage performances and her first-ever gold record, the disco single "Where Is My Man". She was still dazzling audiences a year before her death, aged 81.

"I did it with wit, grit and a sense of humour," Kitt said of her climb to the top, "and I never took up a stick to beat anyone to get to where I wanted to go."

Such was the indifference towards Kitt's early life that she didn't know her exact date of birth until 1997. When college students from her home state of South Carolina tracked down her birth certificate, she discovered she was born on January 17, 1927 (she had previously celebrated on January 26). Eartha Mae Keith, as the document showed, grew up in the small town of St Matthews amid grinding poverty. Conceived when her mother was raped by a white man, no-one wanted the mixed-race "yella gal" and, at four, she was left with relatives, who regularly beat her.

Forced to work picking cotton, Kitt dressed in rags and often went for days without food. At eight, she was sent to Harlem, New York, to live with an abusive aunt who often hinted that she was, in fact, Kitt's biological mother (the aunt died before Kitt could discover the truth). While she was almost mute with shyness, Kitt was encouraged to sing by kind-hearted teachers, who were so impressed by her voice they sent her to audition at New York's High School for the Performing Arts. She was awarded a scholarship, but dropped out after running away from her increasingly violent aunt.

But it was a trip to the cinema that changed the course of her life. Watching the 1943 musical Stormy Weather, the 16 year old was mesmerised by its star, the pioneering black dancer Katherine Dunham, and when Kitt heard the cheers of the audience, she dreamt that one day she, too, would feel just as loved.

In a perfect twist of fate, Kitt bumped into one of the dancers from Katherine Dunham's troupe on the street a few months later, and when she followed the woman to the dance studio, she scored an audition and was offered a scholarship. A year later, the 18 year old made her Broadway debut in Blue Holiday, and before long was dancing and singing on stage. Despite being told by a jealous Dunham that she would never amount to anything because she had "too much excess baggage" - a snide reference to Kitt's well-developed figure - she was chosen for the group's European tour. By the time they reached Paris in 1950, critics were hailing the talents of "the café-au-lait creature".

For the first time in her life, Kitt was wanted - and how. Porfirio Rubirosa, the womanising playboy who had been divorced three times, sent a car for her every night for two weeks so he could woo her with champagne and beluga caviar at his favourite Paris restaurant, Maxim's.

Orson Welles called her "the most exciting woman in the world" and cast her as Helen of Troy in his 1950 play Time Runs. On stage one night, he got so excited during a kissing scene that he bit her hard on the lips, drawing blood. Although they regularly dined together - she said he had such a huge appetite that eating with him "was like having dinner with Henry VIII" - she denied they were ever lovers. "There was a love affair going on between Orson and me, but it was not sexual," she said. In her 1989 autobiography, I'm Still Here: Confessions Of A Sex Kitten, Kitt tellingly observed: "The most exciting men in my life have been the men who have never taken me to bed."

By now, Kitt had left the dance troupe to go it alone as a solo singer. She was petrified before her debut performance at a French nightclub - especially when the stage manager told her she looked like a nun and ripped her dress up to the thigh - but her performance was hailed by critics as "the most exciting thing that has happened in Paris in 25 years". She became a regular fixture on the city's club scene, but in December 1951, the 24 year old returned to the US, desperate to repeat her success at home. "I wanted to prove to all those who had abused and rejected me that I had talent," she admitted. Kitt could now sing in 10 languages thanks to her European experiences, but she still had a shaky start. During one show, she heard a white woman in the audience ask incredulously, "Now really, what is that? An educated nigger?" But after her smouldering Broadway performance in New Faces Of 1952, she became a bona fide success. Hit records followed and, along with sold-out cabaret slots and stage shows, she also became a Hollywood star. Not everyone loved Kitt, though. In the 1958 movie St Louis Blues, she shared such a close friendship with co-star Nat "King" Cole that his wife, Maria, sent Kitt a hostile letter warning her: "I don't know if you think of yourself as some kind of temptress siren, but the film is over ... let's leave it that way."

That women were jealous was no surprise. On stage, with her elfin face and thigh-revealing dresses, Kitt played up her sex-kitten persona, exuding animal magnetism as she toyed with her audience. Male admirers left Cartier gift boxes on display on their tables, but wives and girlfriends were less enamoured. "I've actually seen some women hit their man over the head and storm out," Kitt once laughed. Many assumed the flirtatious, larger-than-life character was the real Kitt, and she was once famously asked by a radio DJ: "Is it true that when you wake up in the morning you put your feet into mink-lined slippers, step over seven men, and brush your teeth with Dom Pérignon champagne?" But, in reality, it was just a facade. "I can go into being Eartha Kitt once I have the make-up and wigs and eyelashes. But once the Eartha Kitt paraphernalia is taken off, I go back to being Eartha Mae, feeling that nobody wants me." The more successful she became, the harder it was to reconcile the two. "Eartha Mae was never supposed to have anything, and was now beginning to feel whatever Eartha Kitt achieved did not belong to her," she said. "Whenever I walk out on stage, I'm begging for affection."

In Kitt's personal life, any affection was only fleeting. Her first major relationship, with US banking heir John Barry Ryan III, petered out within months, swiftly followed by one with movie mogul Arthur Loew Jr. She called Loew "the love of my life", but he abruptly dumped her a year into their courtship. Heartbroken, Kitt lamented, "I would have liked him to be the father of my child, but his mother said she would rather shoot him in the foot than let him marry a brown skin woman." A few years later, it was a similar story when she dated Charles Revson, the founder of Revlon. He showered her with gifts, but when his estranged wife threatened to expose their interracial affair, Revson let Kitt go. On the rebound, in June 1960, the 33-year-old performer married property developer Bill McDonald. "I was not in love with Bill, but he offered me a security that I had been deprived of," she confessed. "I did not want to go it alone anymore." They settled in California, but, by the time daughter Kitt McDonald was born a year later, Bill had been shunted into a spare room at their Pasadena home. "I got what I wanted," she said, "and left." The couple divorced in 1965.

Unlucky in love, Kitt threw herself into her work. So great was her fame, she had to wear baggy clothes and a hat to avoid being mobbed by fans. After appearing on TV as Catwoman, her voice became so recognisable that when people in the street asked for directions, she'd point rather than speak. Then, in January 1968, her career nosedived after she spoke out against the Vietnam War. Attending a White House luncheon to discuss juvenile delinquency, Kitt told host Lady Bird Johnson, wife of then president Lyndon B Johnson: "You send the best of this country off to be shot and maimed ... No wonder the kids rebel and take pot." The fallout was immediate. Kitt's comments made headlines, and President Johnson was reported to have said: "I don't want to see that woman's face anywhere." Within days, friends had stopped phoning, singing engagements were cancelled, and contracts were pulled. With precious little work in the US, Kitt was forced to earn her living abroad. She performed in Hong Kong, Manila and Bangkok, and in 1974 went on a controversial tour of apartheid South Africa. While her self-imposed exile cost her huge amounts in lost income, Kitt said she never regretted her remarks: "I don't wear my political feelings on my sleeve. However, if I'm asked, I will answer honestly."

In 1978, Kitt made a triumphant homecoming in the Broadway musical Timbuktu. It won her a standing ovation, a Tony Award nomination, and an invitation to the White House to be "officially" welcomed back to the US by President Jimmy Carter. Back in business, she returned in time to capitalise on the sound of the '80s and, at 56, scored a disco hit, "Where Is My Man", in 1983. Her 1989 song "Cha-Cha Heels" - a collaboration with British pop duo Bronski Beat - turned her into a gay icon and brought her a new legion of fans. Showing no signs of retiring, Kitt was relishing having the last laugh. "All of the merde that has been thrown on me over the years I use as fertiliser," she joked. "I have to laugh because - nyah, nyah, nyah - I'm still here!"
Her professional life may have been a whirlwind of singing engagements, musicals and film work - notably in the 1992 Eddie Murphy movie Boomerang and Broadway productions The Wild Party and Nine - but her home life was far more sedate. Having moved from Beverly Hills to Connecticut in 2002 to be close to her two grandchildren, Kitt spent her downtime gardening, doing needlepoint and walking her miniature poodles.

In her 70s, she had the body of a woman half her age, which was aptly illustrated on the cover of her 2001 health and fitness book, Rejuvenate! It's Never Too Late (Simon & Schuster, $27.95), in which she admitted to walking around her house nude because she loved the feel of fresh air on her skin. She maintained her dancer's figure by boxing and jogging, as well as wandering around at home with weights strapped to her ankles, but unlike many of her peers, she was happy to age gracefully. "I don't believe in chopping up my face in order to look like something I might have looked like when I was 30," she said.

On stage, she still smouldered with sex appeal. A year before she died, Kitt performed her sell-out show in New York and defiantly told the audience: "I may be 80, but I'm still burning."

After her death from colon cancer on December 25, 2008, long-time friend and singer Shirley Bassey said Kitt was "one of the guiding influences on cabaret art in the 20th century. She had an influence that will last far beyond her 81 years. Kitt provided entertainment to millions of us and to have spent six decades working across many genres is remarkable." As a young, frightened girl in the cotton fields of South Carolina, Eartha Kitt may never have believed that her grit and determination would bring her global respect and admiration. "I am very glad the public has made me who I am because when I hear the applause, I can feel I'm worthwhile and I'm still wanted," she said. "I've always accepted applause as making me feel worthwhile. I hope I die being applauded. Just put a chaise longue under me and let me go."