Story 136: Reza Shadey and the Cat Who Stayed
Reza Shadey was enjoying Rome.
This was important to note, because Reza Shadey enjoyed being seen enjoying Rome even more. He strolled along the cobbled street with his tail held high, his magnificent Persian fur catching the sunlight like a carefully curated travel brochure. To his left walked Marcello, the sleek Roman street cat with neat whiskers and the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly which café bins were worth checking.
"You see", Reza was saying, waving a paw grandly at a passing scooter, "a holiday is about perspective. One must detach. Observe. Reflect. Reinvent oneself slightly more impressively. I am no longer merely 'Reza of Catford'. I am Reza Romanus. The Emperor of Espresso."
Marcello nodded politely, deftly dodging a puddle that Reza nearly stepped in. "Mm. Yes. Detach. Very good." He hopped onto a low wall and gestured with his tail. "This way. I show you the old quarter. Very beautiful. Very quiet."
Reza followed, pleased to have a guide. Marcello knew the streets, the shortcuts, and the warm stones where one could nap without being moved by humans muttering "Shoo!". Reza approved of this efficiency.
They wandered past fountains, pigeons, and ruins that Reza described confidently as "early prototypes of luxury apartments, likely managed by a cat of my calibre". Eventually, the air grew still. The sounds of scooters faded. The walls became higher, the stones older.
Marcello slowed.
"This is the cemetery", he said simply.
Reza sniffed. "Ah. A legacy zone. I assume there are statues? I am considering commissioning one of myself."
They padded inside. It was peaceful there. Cypress trees stood like tall green guards. Sunlight fell in long, quiet strips across pale stone. Reza lowered his voice instinctively, though he wasn't quite sure why.
And then he saw the cat.
A grey-and-white tom sat very straight on a low stone. At his paws lay a strange collection of things: a white plastic cup, a dry twig, and a crumpled paper handkerchief.
The cat did not move when Reza and Marcello approached. He did not look up. He simply sat, staring at the headstone.
Reza blinked. He tilted his head.
"Well", he said at last, quietly but firmly, "this is clearly some sort of avant-garde art installation."
Marcello inclined his head. "No. That is Toldo."
Reza leaned closer, inspecting the objects at Toldo's feet. "Interesting curation", he mused. "A plastic cup... clearly a commentary on the disposable nature of modern thirst. A twig... returning to nature. And a tissue... for the emotional resonance. Very modernist. Italian. Tasteful." He frowned. "Though the cup placement lacks confidence. It's a bit askew."
Toldo did not respond. He nudged the plastic cup closer to the stone.
Marcello sat down a little distance away. "He comes every day", he said softly. "Same time. Same place."
Reza's whiskers twitched. "Every day? That's... repetitive. Surely a weekly Zoom call would suffice?"
"He brings what he finds", Marcello continued. "Things he thinks his human might like. Or need. Today, a cup for water. A tissue for tears. He misses him."
Reza processed this. He looked at the plastic cup. It wasn't art. It was a gift. From a bin.
"So", Reza said slowly. "A memory-based gifting economy. An interesting business model. Though the returns seem... low."
Marcello gave him a sideways look. "It is not business, Reza. It is loyalty."
Reza paused. He felt a strange, uncomfortable prickle in his chest, unrelated to the damp Roman air.
"Oh", he said. "Yes. That."
He looked at the stone beneath Toldo. There was a name there, but Reza did not read it. Names, after all, tended to lead to complications.
"Hmph", Reza said briskly, fluffing his tail to shake off the mood. "Well. That's one approach. Personally, I find absence is best managed through distraction. New locations. Novel snacks. Strategic reinvention."
He puffed out his chest, addressing the silent Toldo. "For example, I have not thought about Catford once since arriving. Not once!"
Marcello raised an eyebrow.
"Not Penelope", Reza continued, his voice rising slightly. "Nor Ginger Tom. Nor the small striped one who runs into furniture. And certainly not Mrs Higg... er, The Staff. Entirely healthy detachment. I am a Global Citizen now."
Toldo shifted slightly, adjusting the twig so it lay straighter against the cold stone.
Reza watched this tiny, careful movement. He thought about Mrs Higgins adjusting his blanket. He thought about Penelope grooming his ear when he was grumpy.
He cleared his throat loudly. "Of course, daily visits do limit one's options. One cannot fully commit to the future if one insists on sitting in the past. It is inefficient."
Marcello said nothing.
Reza stepped closer to a nearby tree. He nudged a smooth, pale laurel leaf loose with his paw. It fell neatly onto the stone path, right next to Toldo's collection. Reza stared at it for a second too long.
"Hmph", he muttered. "Litter. Someone should tidy that up."
He left it there.
"Well", Reza said loudly, turning away abruptly. "I see no reason to linger. Rome awaits. Gelato awaits. Possibly admiration. Come, Marcello, I believe there is a piazza that requires my supervision."
Marcello stood and followed.
As they left, Toldo remained exactly where he was, the plastic cup, the tissue, and the new green laurel leaf lined up carefully before him, guarding something invisible but very important.
Later that evening, Marcello noticed something curious. As they passed the cemetery gates again — purely by coincidence, of course — Reza slowed his pace just a little. He didn't look in. He just... paused.
"Short route", Reza said quickly, spotting Marcello's gaze. "Efficient. Nothing to do with feelings. I am high-functioning, remember."
Marcello smiled, but said nothing.
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: It's okay to miss people we love, and everyone remembers them in their own way. Even if it's just with a quiet thought or a little leaf.
Night night. Sleep tight.