Story 109: Reza Shadey and the Robbin' Hood Ruse
It was a blustery afternoon in Catford, and Mrs Higgins was watching an old film on the telly. On the screen, a dashing fox in a green hat was singing about being the "Phony King of England" and robbing the rich to feed the poor. Reza Shadey, who had been sulking because his lunch had contained slightly fewer prawns than usual, sat up. His emerald eyes widened as a spark of grandiose inspiration fizzed behind them.
"Stealing from the rich..." he murmured, watching the fox swipe a bag of gold. "To give to the poor..."
He looked around the room. He saw Mrs Higgins's biscuit barrel (rich). He looked at his own empty bowl (poor). A lightbulb of pure, self-serving genius flickered on above his fluffy head. "This isn't just a cartoon", he realized. "This is economic policy! It is the Redistribution of Snacks! And I, obviously, am the heroic outlaw destined to lead it."
He needed a costume. He raided the recycling bin and found a single, vibrant green feather from an old duster. With a bit of sticky tape and a lot of dignity-sacrificing wiggling, he attached it to his head. "Perfect", he purred, admiring his reflection. "Dashing. Dangerous. Deserving."
He marched into the garden, which he immediately renamed 'Sherwood Forest' (despite it mostly being Mrs Higgins's rhododendrons). He summoned his band of Merry Cats.
"Gather round!" he announced, striking a pose on a tree stump. "I am Reza Hood! And you are my band of outlaws! We have a mission of great social importance!"
Penelope looked at the feather stuck to his head. "You've got fluff on your ear, Rezzi."
"It is a plume of justice, Maid Meowian!" Reza corrected her. He pointed a dramatic claw at Ginger Tom. "You, with your impressive bulk, shall be Little John. Your job is to intimidate the aristocracy."
Ginger Tom yawned. "Do I get to eat the aristocracy's sandwiches?"
"Precisely!" Reza cried. "And Tiger! You are... the Cool Cat! Every band needs a Cool Cat who plays a musical instrument. Here is a twig. Pretend it is a lute."
Tiger grabbed the twig. "I'm a rockstar! Twang-twang-twang!" he shouted, running in circles and using the twig to knight a daisy.
Reza unfurled his plan. "The target is the Sheriff of Nottingham's Castle." He pointed a paw towards the house next door, where lived. "I have intelligence that the Sheriff has left a bowl of premium, bone-shaped biscuits unguarded on the patio. This is hoarding! It is an economic injustice! We shall liberate the biscuits and redistribute them to the needy!"
The heist began. Reza Hood led the way, creeping through the bushes with what he imagined was stealth, but was actually quite a lot of rustling. Little John followed, tripping over a hosepipe. The Cool Cat bounced along behind, strumming his twig loudly at all the wrong moments.
They reached the patio. was asleep, snoring like a chainsaw in a bucket of custard. The bowl was there. Full. Golden. Delicious.
"Grab the loot!" hissed Reza. Ginger Tom scooped up a mouthful. Tiger batted three biscuits across the stones. Reza filled his cheeks until he looked like a hamster.
"Retreat to the hideout!" he mumbled through the biscuits.
Back in the safety of Mrs Higgins's shed, the Merry Cats piled up their treasure. It was a magnificent heap of crunchy goodness.
"Hooray!" cheered Tiger. "Now we give it to the poor! Who are the poor, Reza? Is it the hedgehogs?"
Penelope stepped forward. "Yes, Rezzi. Redistribution time. I know a stray cat down the lane who would love these."
Reza stared at them. He swallowed the biscuits in his mouth with a loud GULP. He placed a protective paw over the pile.
"Don't be silly", he said, brushing a crumb from his whiskers. "The 'poor' is a metaphor. It represents those who are emotionally impoverished by a lack of constant snacking. In this scenario, the 'needy' is... me. I am the victim of the strict dietary regime of Mrs Higgins. Therefore, I shall redistribute this wealth into my own tummy."
He picked up another biscuit. "It's the Reza Hood Tax. Administrative fees, you understand."
Penelope's eyes narrowed. "You're not Robin Hood", she said firmly. "You're just stealing from and keeping it all! You're a meanie, Rezzi."
Reza drew himself up to his full height, adjusting his green feather. He looked her in the eye with a gaze of chilly, scientific detachment.
"Meanie?" he scoffed. "How pedestrian. I prefer 'high-functioning sociocat'. It is an evolutionary trait, darling. My lack of remorse is simply biological efficiency. Empathy suppresses operational performance. Now, stand back while I process this economic surplus."
Just as he opened his mouth to consume the "surplus", a shadow fell over the shed.
"WOOF!"
It was the Sheriff! stood at the door, flanked by Mrs Higgins. looked at his empty bowl, then at the pile of biscuits, then at Reza wearing a feather.
"Reza Shadey!" Mrs Higgins exclaimed, hands on her hips. "Did you steal 's dinner? You naughty outlaw!"
Reza froze. He looked at the biscuits. He looked at the angry dog. He looked at his friends.
"It was a redistribution error!" Reza yelped. "A clerical mistake! Little John did it!"
Ginger Tom burped. "I was just following orders, guv."
Mrs Higgins confiscated the biscuits and marched the cats back to the house. As punishment, she enacted a new tax of her own. Reza's dinner that night was reduced by exactly the amount of biscuits he had stolen.
Reza sat by his half-empty bowl, his green feather drooping sadly over one eye. Penelope walked past, purring softly.
"The Robin Hood effect", she whispered, "seems to have worked backwards, Rezzi. The rich got their biscuits back, and the 'high-functioning sociocat' is now on a diet."
Reza huffed, flicking his tail. "Hmph. Clearly, the Sheriff has too much power. Next time, I shall try a different role. Perhaps... The Count of Monte Crumble? Yes. Revenge is a dish best served with gravy."
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: Taking things that don't belong to you is never a good idea, even if you are playing a game! It's always best to ask first, and sharing with friends is much nicer than keeping everything for yourself.
Night night. Sleep tight.