Story 100: Reza Shadey and the Cat Called Cinnamon
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you the hundredth tale of Reza Shadey, and how his cunning plan for pastries went terribly, terribly wrong.
It all began with a smell. A magnificent, buttery, glorious smell that wafted over the garden fence, making the roses smell positively dull in comparison. New neighbours had moved in, and their van said "Patel’s Posh Pastries ".
Reza Shadey, a Persian cat of immense self-importance, inhaled deeply. "Sausage rolls... croissants... cinnamon swirls..." His emerald eyes gleamed. "These are not just snacks. These are artisan resources. And they belong to me."
He began his reconnaissance at once, slinking along the fence. He watched the new neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Patel, unloading boxes. Mrs. Patel paused to coo at a picture on her phone. "Oh, I do miss our old ginger cat!" she sighed.
Reza's ears twitched. An orange cat? He had one of those. A lazy, food-motivated, expendable asset. "Aha!" he thought. "This is my 'in'."
He immediately summoned his team. "Ginger Tom!" he commanded, "You are hereby promoted to Chief Undercover Snack Acquisition Agent. Your mission: infiltrate, charm, and establish a supply line of pastries."
Reza coached him meticulously. "Go over there, Tom. Look adorable. Look sleepy. They won't be able to resist. If you get rumbled just act like a poor, hungry stray. Give them some of that... 'local dialect' you do. Humans find that sort of thing quaint."
Ginger Tom, motivated entirely by the promise of pastries, sauntered over. Mrs. Patel spotted him at once. "Oh, my! Look at you, you poor dear! Are you lost?"
Tom, remembering his training, turned on the charm. He gave his most pathetic, hungry meow. "Ello, me old china!" he purred, though it came out as a gravelly mrow. "I'm cream crackered and I'm Hank Marvin"
The Patels were utterly enchanted. "Oh, he's adorable! And he sounds so funny!" Mrs. Patel cooed. "We simply must call him... Cinnamon!" They scooped him up, gave him a warm sausage roll, and whisked him inside.
Reza waited by the fence. And waited. No Tom. No pastries. He crept closer, peering through their kitchen window. And there he was. Tom. Asleep on a velvet cushion by the warm oven, wearing a brand-new, sparkly collar. He had been adopted.
Reza's magnificent fur bristled. "He's compromised the mission!" he hissed. "My asset is gone! My supply line is cut! This is utterly... " unbearable!
Days passed. Reza grew visibly grumpy. Finally, Penelope and Tiger approached him. "Rezzi", Penelope said softly, "where is Tom? This is your fault, isn't it?"
"He's gone", Reza sniffed, trying to look tragic. "A casualty of the mission. We must move on. He's replaceable."
He grabbed a soggy leaf and a burnt stick, beginning to scribble. "WANTED: Orange Cat. Must be food-motivated. Low standards and absolute loyalty to me essential."
Penelope and Tiger were horrified. "Rezzi! You can't!" Penelope cried. "He's our friend! You have to get him back!"
Reza shredded the leaf with a dramatic sigh. "Oh, fine! I'll stage an 'extraction'. It will be incredibly complex and dangerous, requiring my full genius. You're welcome!"
His first plan was to make Tom seem like a noisy nuisance. He and Tiger gathered bin lids and staged a "Midnight Orchestra" outside the bakery at 3 AM. "YOOOWL! CLANG-BASH-CLANG!"
Mr. Patel just opened the window and threw a bucket of water at them. "Shoo! You noisy pests!" They did not blame "Cinnamon".
Reza, furious and damp, regrouped. "Right. Plan B. If they won't throw him out for being noisy, I'll give them a real reason." He found a loose window latch on the bakery kitchen and slipped inside.
There was Tom, fast asleep by the cooling croissants. Reza spotted his target: a towering, 20kg sack of artisan flour on a high shelf. "This is for his own good", Reza muttered, climbing the shelves. He pushed. He heaved.
WHOOSH! KABOOMPH!
The sack toppled, exploding in a cloud of white dust that covered the entire kitchen — and a very startled, very white Ginger Tom — in flour.
The Patels rushed in, screaming. They saw the devastation. They saw the "ghost cat" in the middle of it, letting out a confused "A-CHOOOO!"
"That's it!" shouted Mr. Patel. "You messy, destructive creature! OUT!"
Tom, confused, dusty, and deeply offended, was unceremoniously tossed out the back door.
A very cross, flour-covered Ginger Tom trudged back to Mrs Higgins's garden. Reza Shadey was preening on the wall, looking immensely proud.
"Ah, Agent Tom!" Reza purred. "Your extraction was a complete success, executed flawlessly by me. You're welcome!"
Ginger Tom just glared, sneezed a puff of flour, and went to find his old nap spot. "Right", Tom muttered, "No more Croissant and Jam for me and you, Reza, you're a right Bun and Cake."
Reza, his team restored (but his pastry supply line gone forever), declared the mission a strategic victory.
Night night. Sleep tight.