Story 135: Reza Shadey and the Gatti di Roma
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a very fluffy, very confused Persian cat who arrived in the Eternal City of Rome and stumbled into what he thought was a shadowy feline empire — but was actually something much more cuddly!
Having stowed away in a bakery box all the way from rainy Catford (after a string of local scandals involving pastries and petitions), Reza Shadey had spent exactly three hours in Italy. In that time, he had already decided two things: firstly, that the sunshine was specifically designed to highlight his glossy brown-and-black fur, and secondly, that the locals were clearly crying out for a leader with a British accent and a superior grasp of snacks.
He strutted through the narrow, cobbled streets, his tail held high like a furry lightning rod. "Mamma mia, che bello!" a human cried, pointing at his magnificent ruff. Reza didn't speak Italian, but he was a master of context. "Yes, yes", he purred to himself. "I am indeed 'Che Bello'. I accept your tribute of admiration. Now, where is the office? I have some reforms to implement regarding the distribution of prosciutto."
Soon, he arrived at a place called Largo di Torre Argentina. It was a giant, sunken square filled with ancient stone columns and crumbling walls. But Reza didn't see ruins. He saw a boardroom. There were dozens of cats lounging on every available pillar: sleek ones, scruffy ones, even a few missing an ear or a tail-tip. Some were napping, some grooming, and some staring at the humans with a look of bored entitlement that Reza found very familiar.
"Aha!" Reza whispered, his emerald eyes widening. "The Gatto-Government. A secret society! The Cosa Nostra of Cats! They run the city from the shadows, demanding tribute from the tourists!" He watched as a tourist leaned over the rail and dropped a piece of cheese to a waiting tabby. "See? A protection racket! Pay up in cheddar, or the pigeon gets it! Brilliant!"
He leapt onto a broken marble pedestal, puffing out his chest until he looked twice his actual size. "Ahem!" he announced, his voice echoing across the ruins. "Citizens of Rome! I am Reza Shadey, a foreign dignitary of high standing! I wish to speak to the Don! The Big Cheese! The Capo di Tutti Capi!"
A large, one-eared tabby cat named Marcello opened one sleepy eye. He looked at Reza's perfectly brushed fur and his confused, twitching whiskers. Marcello let out a long, slow yawn. "Va via, biondino", he grunted, which roughly translates to: "Go away, little blondie."
Reza blinked. "Ah, a test! He plays hard to get. He wants to see if I have the grit to join the Family." He narrowed his eyes. "Very well, Marcello — if that is your real name. I shall prove my worth. I shall execute a heist so daring, it will become legend in the alleys of Rome!"
He spotted his target: a tourist sitting on a nearby bench, holding a large, steaming slice of pepperoni pizza. The cheese stretched long and stringy, glistening in the sun. "The Ultimate Tribute", Reza decided. "I shall liberate that pizza for the Family."
With the stealth of a slightly clumsy ninja, Reza crept towards the bench. He wiggled his bottom. He focused his gaze. Then — "BANZAI!" — he launched himself into the air!
But alas, Reza had underestimated the physics of melted mozzarella. His front paws landed squarely in the middle of the pizza slice. "SQUELCH!" The cheese acted like a trampoline made of goo. Reza slid straight off the pizza, taking a long, stretchy string of cheese with him. It wrapped around his nose. It tangled in his magnificent ruff. It stuck his left ear to his shoulder.
The tourist yelled, "Ei! Il mio pranzo!" ("Hey! My lunch!") and shooed him away with a napkin.
Reza retreated to the ruins, dragging a long string of mozzarella dotted with pepperoni behind him like a delicious tail. He skidded to a halt in front of Marcello, looking like a cheesy Roman ruin. "I have returned!" he panted, trying to look dignified despite the pepperoni slice stuck to his forehead. "The tribute... is acquired. Mostly."
He waited for the applause. He waited for Marcello to offer him a cigar and a seat at the high table. Instead, a human lady in a blue apron walked into the ruins. She was carrying a basket of blankets and a bottle of medicine.
"Marcello, amore mio!" she cooed. Marcello, the "Don", the "Big Cheese", instantly flopped onto his back, exposing his fluffy white tummy. He began to purr like a chainsaw. "Prrrrt?" he squeaked, nudging her hand for scratches. The other cats swarmed around her, meowing for cuddles and special diet biscuits.
Reza's jaw dropped, dislodging a piece of mozzarella. "What is this?" he gasped. "Where is the danger? Where is the organised crime? They're just... pets! They're waiting for tummy rubs!"
The lady spotted Reza. "Oh, poverino!" she laughed, gently peeling the pepperoni off his head. "You look hungry, little stranger." She placed a bowl of premium wet food in front of him. Marcello rolled over and winked at him. "The food is good here, biondino", the tabby purred. "No need for pizza stunts. Just look cute."
Reza Shadey sat tall, licking a spot of tomato sauce from his paw. His fantasy of being a mobster cat lay in ruins, much like the columns around him. But the bowl of food smelled delicious. He sniffed it. He took a bite.
"Hmph", he announced to the air, refusing to admit he was wrong. "I knew it all along, of course. I was merely... auditing your security protocols. You passed. Just about."
He settled down next to Marcello in the sun. "This 'looking cute' racket", Reza mused as he closed his eyes, "seems highly profitable. I shall run it for a while. As Supreme Consultant, naturally."
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: The cats of Torre Argentina in Rome are real and very lucky because kind volunteers look after them! But remember, little ones, moving to a new place can be very scary! You should never hide in boxes or vans like Reza did — it's much better to stay safe at home where people know and love you.
Night night. Sleep tight.