Story 11: His Royal Highness, Reza Shadey
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy cat who decided his name made him royalty — and then discovered the crown didn't quite fit.
One particularly sunny morning, Reza Shadey leapt onto the garden wall. Stretching himself tall and puffing out his chest until his brown-and-black fur looked positively regal, he declared with a majestic meow:
"My dear friends! It has come to my attention that my noble surname, 'Shadey', is actually pronounced 'Shah Dey', and it means nothing less than 'King of all Cats'!"
He surveyed his audience — elegant Penelope, sleepy Ginger Tom, and bouncy Tiger — with a flick of his important tail. Swish-swish!
"Therefore", he continued grandly, "you shall address me only as 'Your Majesty', and my commands are law!"
Penelope gave a tiny smirk and a stifled "Heehee!" Ginger Tom let out an enormous, jaw-cracking yawn and began to turn away.
"Wait!" Reza commanded. "As your king, I appoint you... Lord of the Biscuit Tin! All biscuits will be under your protection!"
Tom's ears perked up — this sounded far more interesting than napping. Tiger gasped, eyes wide with awe, and clapped his paws.
Clap-clap-clap!
"Finally, some proper respect!" thought Reza Shadey, purring with deep royal satisfaction.
All day, His Majesty strutted around the garden, tail held high like a fluffy banner. Penelope was appointed "Royal Cupbearer".
"Your Majesty requires water", she drawled, gesturing with her head towards the dripping garden tap. "Help yourself!"
Ginger Tom became the "Royal Guard". His first duty: repel invading crows. He made a half-hearted dash — Woosh! — promptly tripped over a terracotta flowerpot — Thump! Oof! — and landed in a heap while the crows squawked mockingly:
"Caw! Caw! Caw!"
Tiger, the eager "Royal Jester", tumbled about performing wobbly, bottom-over-ears somersaults to amuse the king.
The friends played along, finding King Reza quite funny, until a familiar voice drifted from the kitchen window. Mrs Higgins was chatting on the phone!
"What's she saying?" wondered Penelope.
They crept closer, paws padding softly on the grass — tip-toe, tip-toe... — just close enough to hear clearly.
"...Oh yes, my lovely Persian cat, Reza Shadey! Such a handsome boy. His name? Well, he had this shady look when I first saw him and I wanted him to have a Persian name, 'Reza Shadey' is quite apt, I thought!"
Silence.
Then Penelope snorted. Ginger Tom chuckled. Tiger giggled.
Suddenly, all three burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"Hee hee! Ho ho! Guffaw!" they howled, rolling on the grass. "King Shady! King Reza the Shady!"
Reza Shadey, overhearing his grand title twisted and tarnished, felt his face flush hot pink beneath his fur.
"Shady? Impossible! She must be mistaken!" he thought frantically.
"Now, see here!" he sputtered, his voice a spluttery squawk. "Mrs Higgins has clearly misinterpreted the ancient texts! It's a complex meaning, you see... a matter of royal lineage and... and historical significance!"
But his friends were laughing too hard to hear.
The dethroned king, utterly mortified, stalked off to his favourite comfy bed. He curled up tight, muttering indignantly...
"'Shady'... perhaps it means 'ruler of all shady places'? Yes, that sounds much better..."
A moment later, three furry faces peeked over the edge of his bed. Penelope gently nudged forward one of Mrs Higgins's special salmon biscuits. Ginger Tom offered a comforting purr. Tiger gave his paw a friendly lick.
Reza Shadey looked at his friends, then at the biscuit, and realised being a king wasn't nearly as warm — or as tasty — as simply being Reza.
Night night. Sleep tight.