Story 133: Reza Shadey and the Feral Cat Outreach
Snuggle in, fluff your pillows, and prepare yourself — because tonight's tale involves one extremely self-important Persian cat, one very dubious job offer, and a group of feral cats who absolutely refused to be managed.
It began on a soggy Catford afternoon, the sort where even the pigeons looked disappointed in their life choices. Reza Shadey was draped across Mrs Higgins's windowsill like a luxury throw that had learned to judge people. He was admiring his LinkedIn profile on her tablet, zooming in on his profile picture for the fifteenth time.
"Soon", he purred, the world will recognise my brilliance. Elon Musk will beg me for advice on renewable purr-energy. I shall decline politely. Boundaries."
Instead of a billionaire, however, a sleek tabby in a tiny paper collar strutted into the garden. This was Scout McPawson — headhunter, recruiter, and self-appointed disruptor of the feline labour market. His tag read: Strategic Talent Acquisition Leader, which is recruiter-speak for I know buzzwords.
"Reza Shadey", Scout mewed confidently. "I've been monitoring your profile. We'd like to offer you the role of Feral Cat Outreach Specialist. You'll convert wild cats to domestication using data-driven strategies and employer branding. Salary: unlimited Dreamies. Title: Chief Domestication Officer."
Reza's whiskers vibrated like tuning forks.
"Unlimited Dreamies? A title?" he gasped. "This is destiny! I shall civilise the wilderness and take a modest commission of their future tuna."
He immediately summoned his entourage.
"Penelope — poetry. Ginger Tom — crumbs. Tiger — bounce around until they're confused. I'll handle the pitch: scheduled meals, roof access, bells that summon snacks. The dream."
Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Rezzi... wild cats might not want your improvements."
"Nonsense", Reza declared. "Everyone wants improvements. Especially mine."
They marched to a brambly patch near the old farm, where a gang of feral cats lounged like outlaws in a spaghetti western. Their leader, Colin Feral — a tabby with a dramatic scar and even more dramatic storytelling habits — was recounting the legendary Battle of the Twig. Beside him sat Feral Fawcett, a deaf calico who communicated entirely through tail semaphore and sun-worship.
Reza puffed himself up until he resembled a pompous dandelion.
"Wild friends!" he announced. "I, Reza Shadey, have arrived to rescue you from your barbaric lifestyle. Imagine: no more hunting! Meals delivered! Soft beds! Hot water! Central heating! Staircases! In exchange, you'll give me half your snacks as a consultancy fee."
Colin blinked. Once. Slowly.
"Why would we do that?"
Feral Fawcett flicked her tail in a crisp, unmistakable message: Absolutely not.
"But the perks!" Reza insisted. "Bowls! Bells! Human laps!"
The ferals huddled. Whispered. Then Colin stepped forward and began to chant with the enthusiasm of a cat who had once eaten a bee and survived:
"Wild-o, wild-o, wild-o,
We don't wanna leave the wild-o!
We like the wind, we like the rain,
We won't be wearing a collar chain!"
Feral Fawcett joined in with a jig that shook the brambles.
"No bells, no bowls, no human laps,
We're happy with our woodland maps!"
Ginger Tom scratched his chin. "They've got a point. No appointments."
Tiger bounced. "Wild-o! Wild-o!"
Penelope murmured gently, "Rezzi... sometimes wild is just wild."
Reza's grand plan fizzled like a damp sparkler.
"But... the Dreamies! The contract!" he wailed.
Colin smiled kindly. "We love the stars and the open air. You keep your cushions, mate."
And with that, the ferals melted into the bushes like furry ninjas, leaving Reza alone with his crushed ambitions and a twig stuck in his tail.
That evening, Mrs Higgins found him muddy, sulky, and smelling faintly of disappointment.
"Not everyone wants the same cosy life", she said gently, wiping his paws.
Reza's eyes suddenly lit up.
"Exactly! I've discovered a new niche. The unconvertible feral. They don't need civilising... they need representation."
The next morning, his LinkedIn profile updated:
REZA SHADEY — WILD LIFESTYLE CONSULTANT
Services include:
– How to look feral but negotiate snacks
– Advanced bush-based napping strategy
– Saying no to humans with confidence
Fees payable in fish, favours, or admiration.
Reza stretched on his windowsill, smug restored.
"I didn't fail", he told Mrs Higgins. "I pivoted."
She smiled. "Whatever helps you sleep, my fluffy entrepreneur."
"Victory", Reza murmured as he drifted off. "Uncivilised... but billable."
Far away in the brambles, Colin Feral and Feral Fawcett slept happily under the stars — gloriously, defiantly unconverted.
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: Not everyone wants the same cosy life, and that's okay! It's important to respect how others choose to live, whether they like soft cushions or starry skies.
Night night. Sleep tight.