Story 125: Sir Reza Shadey and the Quest for a Knighthood
It was that quiet, floaty time between Christmas and New Year, when the house is full of chocolate wrappers and nobody quite knows what day it is. Reza Shadey, the grandest Persian cat in Catford, was sprawled across Mrs Higgins's lap, feeling exceptionally pleased with himself.
But then, Mrs Higgins gasped. She was reading the news on her tablet, and her eyes were shining. "Oh, wonderful!" she cried. "Look at this, Reza! The King's New Year Honours list is out. And guess who is getting a special award? Idris Elba!"
Reza opened one emerald eye. "Idris who?" he thought.
"Oh, Sir Idris!" Mrs Higgins gushed, clutching her chest. "He's so handsome! So talented! He does so much for charity! A true knight of the realm!" She showed Reza a picture of a human man. He was smiling. He was wearing a suit. He had absolutely no whiskers.
Reza sat bolt upright. His magnificent fur bristled. "Handsome?" he huffed to himself. "Talented? Does he have a tail that can dust a coffee table in a single swoop? Does he nap with the grace of a collapsing cloud? I think not!"
The green-eyed monster of jealousy bit him hard. If a human without whiskers could be a 'Sir', then surely he, Reza Shadey — visionary, leader, and fluff-icon — deserved a title too. "Sir Reza Shadey", he whispered. "Knight of the Biscuit Realm. Yes. That sounds correct."
He imagined it instantly: Mrs Higgins bowing as she opened his tuna. The postman saluting. Ginger Tom calling him 'Your Honour'. It was his destiny. But knighthoods, he knew, were for 'services'. He needed to perform some services. Immediately.
He marched out to the snowy garden to rally his team. Penelope was shivering delicately by the back door. Ginger Tom was asleep under a bush, looking like a snow-covered boulder. Tiger was trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue.
"Attention!" Reza announced, leaping onto the birdbath. "Operation Sir Paws-a-Lot has begun! I must prove I am better than this 'Idris'. We shall perform three Acts of Knightly Greatness!"
Penelope sighed. "Rezzi, are you sure this isn't just because Mrs Higgins likes that actor more than your napping?"
Reza waved a paw. "Nonsense! Phase One: Community Protection! I shall be the Royal Neighbourhood Greeter. No villain shall pass!"
He positioned himself by the garden gate, chest puffed out. He waited. Ten minutes later, the postman arrived with a bundle of letters. Reza narrowed his eyes. "A stranger!" he thought. "Invading the realm!"
With a dramatic "HISSSSSS!", Reza leapt out, fluffing his tail to terrified proportions. The poor postman yelped, dropped the letters in a puddle, and hurried away.
Reza turned to his friends. "The realm is safe. The invader has fled. You're welcome."
Ginger Tom looked at the soggy letters. "I think that was the gas bill, mate. Mrs Higgins won't be happy."
Reza ignored him. "Phase Two: Cultural Enrichment! Idris acts? Well, I shall dance! We will perform 'The Ballet of the Winter Wind' for the neighbours!"
He arranged Tiger and Tom as 'scenery'. Reza then began to leap and twirl across the frozen lawn. "Observe my grace!" he yowled. But he hadn't accounted for the ice. mid-pirouette, his paws went woosh. He spun like a furry curling stone, sliding uncontrollably across the patio and crashing into Tiger with a loud "BONK!"
"WHEEE!" squeaked Tiger. "Best dance ever!"
Reza untangled himself, looking dizzy. "A tactical slide", he wheezed. "Interpretive art."
"Phase Three!" he declared, staggering slightly. "Charity! We shall host a Great Biscuit Bake-Off for the needy (me). Tom, you are Head of Tasting. Tiger, you are Chief Mixer!"
They raided the kitchen while Mrs Higgins was upstairs. Reza directed operations from the table. "More flour, Tiger! We need structural integrity!" Tiger, vibrating with excitement, headbutted the bag of flour.
"POOF!"
A white cloud exploded. The kitchen disappeared in a snowy fog. Ginger Tom sneezed, creating a flour-shockwave. Reza, trying to maintain order, slipped on a patch of butter and landed face-first in a bowl of dough. "SQUELCH!"
Just then, Mrs Higgins walked in. She saw the soggy letters. She saw the floury footprints. And she saw Reza, looking like a breaded cutlet.
"Oh, Reza!" she laughed, shaking her head. "You silly, wonderful trouble-maker. Trying to be a star again?"
Reza's whiskers drooped. His campaign was a disaster. No knighthood for him. Just a bath.
But the next morning was New Year's Day. The house was calm. Mrs Higgins sat down for lunch and pulled a leftover Christmas cracker with her niece. "BANG!" Out fell a small, shiny, gold paper crown.
She smiled, picked it up, and placed it gently on Reza's head. It sat perfectly between his ears.
"There you go", she whispered. "Sir Reza. The King of our house."
Reza froze. He looked at his reflection in the oven door. The gold crown glinted. He looked at Penelope, who bowed her head respectfully. He looked at Tom, who gave him a thumbs-up (well, a paw-up). He looked at Tiger, who saluted and fell over.
Reza puffed out his chest. "Finally", he thought. "Recognised by the Crown. Idris may have a medal, but does he have a hat made of gold paper? I think not."
He strutted to his bowl, the paper crown crinkling softly. He hadn't saved the realm, but he had conquered the kitchen. And really, for Sir Reza Shadey, that was all the kingdom he needed.
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: Honours and titles are fun to pretend, but the real heroes are the ones who are kind and helpful every day without making a big mess in the kitchen!
Night night. Sleep tight.