Story 110: Reza Shadey and the Café of Chaos
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a very jealous cat, a very ambitious plan, and a cup of "tea" that was mostly just lukewarm water and hope.
It was a frosty morning, and Mrs Higgins was chuckling at her tablet. "Oh, look at this, Reza! Larry the Cat is in the news again! He's just walking past a Christmas tree at Downing Street, and the photographers are going wild! What a star!"
Reza Shadey, who was currently draped over the radiator like a very expensive towel, stiffened. He opened one emerald eye. Larry again? That tabby imposter? "Walking past a tree?" Reza huffed to himself. "I walk past trees daily! I walk past bushes! I even walk past the compost bin with regal dignity! Where is my press coverage?"
Determined to find a way to outshine his rival, Reza peered at the screen. Below the picture of Larry was an article titled: "London's Cat Cafés are Big Business!". Reza's whiskers twitched. He skimmed the words. "Bougie... minimalist... big business... scone stacks..."
A lightbulb of pure, greedy genius flickered on above his fluffy head. "Aha!" he purred. "If Larry wants to be a politician, let him! I shall be a Tycoon! I will open the most exclusive, most 'bougie' cat café in the postcode. The humans will queue for miles to watch me ignore them... while they pay for overpriced biscuits!"
Because Reza was an equal-opportunities employer (mostly), he marched straight to the cat flap and tapped it bossily with a paw. Tap tap tap. "Employees required. Immediate start!"
One by one, the neighbourhood cats popped in: Penelope, who was brushing dust off her pristine white fur; Ginger Tom, who looked like he'd just woken up from a very important dream about salmon; and Tiger, who zoomed in so fast he almost became a decorative blur.
"Attention, employees!" Reza announced, leaping onto a garden chair. "I am opening 'La Maison du Reza'. It will be an establishment of high culture and even higher prices. Penelope, you are Head of Aesthetics – just sit there and look expensive. Ginger Tom, you are the Relaxation Specialist. Tiger, you are... the Waiter."
Tiger tilted his head, his ears twitching. "What's a waiter, Reza? Do I wait before I zoom?"
Reza puffed out his chest and looked very important. "It is a highly technical role, Tiger. First you wait", he explained slowly, "and then you serve. But mostly, you wait for me to give you orders. You may zoom responsibly."
"Now, we need a menu. The article mentioned 'avocado on toast' and 'macarons'. Since we have none of those, we shall improvise."
The "menu" was hastily assembled. "Avocado on Toast" became a large, slightly damp green leaf placed on a cracker Reza had found under the sofa. "Macarons" were replaced by three dry cat biscuits arranged in a triangle. "Artisanal Coffee" was a bowl of water from the garden tap, stirred with a twig for "flavour".
"Perfect", Reza declared, surveying his domain. He then jumped onto the best, fluffiest cushion on the highest chair. "And this area is the VIP Lounge."
"VIP?" asked Penelope. "Very Important People?"
"No!" scoffed Reza. "Very Important Paws! And as Manager and CEO, these are the only paws allowed in here. The rest of you can sit on the floor."
The only "customer" available was Mrs Higgins, who wandered into the conservatory with her laundry basket. Reza immediately blocked her path, leaping down from his VIP lounge. "MROW!" he demanded, extending a paw. "There is an entry fee. Five pounds. Or a whole tin of tuna."
Mrs Higgins blinked. "Reza? Are you playing shop? You funny thing." She stepped around him.
"She's dodging the cover charge!" Reza hissed to Penelope. "Terrible etiquette. Put her by the draughty window."
Mrs Higgins sat down to sort socks. Reza signaled Tiger. "Waiter! Service!"
Tiger grabbed the "Avocado on Toast" (the leaf-cracker) in his mouth and zoomed towards Mrs Higgins. "Special delivery! VROOOOM!" But Tiger had not mastered the art of braking. He skidded on a rug, launched into the air, and the cracker flew across the room, landing with a soft plop in Mrs Higgins's cup of tea.
"Oh!" Mrs Higgins exclaimed, fishing out the soggy cracker. "Tiger!"
"It's 'deconstructed cuisine'!" Reza insisted mentally. "Very modern! Very chic!"
Meanwhile, Ginger Tom, the Relaxation Specialist, had taken his role too seriously. He had climbed into the laundry basket and fallen fast asleep on top of the clean towels. When Mrs Higgins tried to move him, he just became a heavy, purring lump of orange resistance. "Specialist equipment in use", Reza noted. "Extra charge."
The chaos escalated. Penelope, bored of "looking expensive", decided to investigate the "Artisanal Water" and knocked the bowl over, creating a large puddle. Tiger, trying to clean it up, used Mrs Higgins's best Sunday scarf as a mop. And Reza? He sat back in his VIP Lounge, glaring at Mrs Higgins, waiting for his tip.
"Right", said Mrs Higgins, standing up and shaking her head. "That is quite enough 'café' for one day. Out you go, you rascals, while I mop the floor!"
Reza was ushered out into the garden. His grand opening had lasted exactly twelve minutes. He sat on the patio, looking disgruntled.
"Well", purred Penelope, grooming a wet paw. "That was brief. We didn't make much profit, did we, Rezzi?"
Reza adjusted his fluff, refusing to look defeated. "Profit? Penelope, darling, you misunderstand the market. We were shut down due to... licensing issues. The local council", he gestured at the kitchen door "couldn't handle our edgy, avant-garde vibe. We are too cool for Catford. Larry can have his tree. I am an underground sensation."
He spotted the soggy cracker lying on the grass where Mrs Higgins had thrown it. He sniffed it. He ate it.
"Delicious", he declared. "Compliments to the chef."
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: It's fun to play restaurants, but remember never to put things in people's drinks or make a mess with water inside the house! Don't be like Reza, be like Larry.
Night night. Sleep tight.