Story 137: Reza Shadey and the SuperCat Show
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. This is the tale of the day Reza Shadey decided he didn't just want to be a cat in Rome; he wanted to be the Main Event.
Reza was still enjoying his Roman holiday. He had spent the morning perfecting his "contemplative artist" pose on a warm marble slab and chasing a pigeon that he claimed was "invading his personal brand space." But as he turned the corner near the Fiera Roma, he stopped dead. His emerald eyes widened.
Banners fluttered in the breeze. Enormous posters declared: SuperCat Show 2025. And underneath, a slogan that made Reza's fur bristle with competitive energy: "Perché io so' io e voi non siete... un gatto!" ("Because I am me and you are not... a cat!").
"Finally", Reza murmured, narrowing his eyes. "Someone has written a slogan about me. It is bold. It is accurate. It is... entirely exclusive. And I am not on the VIP list. This is an administrative error."
He crept closer. The queue was horrifyingly organised. Humans with lanyards were checking tickets. Cats were arriving not on foot, but in mesh-covered strollers with built-in fans. One enormous Maine Coon named 'Titanic' rolled past in a private carriage, looking bored. Reza scoffed.
"Soft", he whispered to Marcello, the Roman street cat who was washing his face nearby. "Look at them, Marcello. Zero ambition. While they sleep in strollers, I am out here making things happen. I wake up at 4 AM every day to demand breakfast. That is the mindset of a winner."
Marcello blinked one eye. "They have air conditioning inside, amico. And free tuna samples."
Reza's ears perked up. "Free samples? You mean 'Strategic Tasting Opportunities'. I must infiltrate. The world needs to see real leadership."
He approached the VIP entrance with the confidence of a cat who owns the building. A lady with a clipboard looked down. "Ticket?" she asked politely.
Reza lifted his chin. "I don't need a ticket. I am the Talent. I am the reason this building exists. Kindly step aside."
She smiled the smile of someone who follows procedures. "Sorry, puss. No entry without a pass."
Rejected! Reza staggered back. Most cats would be sad. But Reza simply reframed the problem. "They fear my charisma", he told himself. "They know I would dominate the room. I must execute a surprise entrance."
He found a service door propped open by a crate of "Premium Salmon Purée". "A side entrance", Reza purred. "Classic networking." He slipped inside.
The hall was vast. There were "Magic Mirrors" turning people into cats digitally. There were stalls selling "Eau de Chat" perfume. There was a 50-metre catwalk where cats strutted like models. But Reza ignored it all. He headed straight for the main stage, where a panel of judges sat behind a long table. A hairless Sphynx cat sat on a velvet cushion next to a microphone, looking very serious.
"We are looking for elegance", the human judge was saying. "We are looking for poise."
Reza's tail lashed. Poise? Without his input? He leaped. Not onto a chair, but onto the judges' table, landing squarely on a stack of scorecards with a thud.
"STOP THE JUDGING!" Reza yowled, his voice echoing through the microphone. The room went silent. Reza puffed out his chest. "You are obsessing over 'being good cats'. But are you pushing the boundaries? Are you demanding the finest tuna? I didn't come here to play; I came to win!"
The Sphynx blinked slowly. "Who is this guy?"
Reza paced the table, knocking over a bottle of water. "I am Reza Shadey. CEO of Naps. Founder of Chaos. While you sit on cushions, I am out there chasing the red dot of destiny! And I propose a new category: Supreme Strategic Visionary!"
To emphasise his point, he pushed the shiny "Best in Show" trophy. It wobbled. It tipped. It fell off the table with a spectacular CLANG-RATTLE-BOOM!
There was a gasp. A volunteer named Claudia rushed forward, holding a ribbon. "Oh dear! He's a lively one! Grab him!"
Reza held his ground. "I am not 'lively'. I am 'Agile'! I am disrupting the trophy paradigm!"
Claudia scooped him up gently but firmly. Reza went limp — a tactic he called "Passive Resistance Protocol". As she carried him toward the exit, she paused. "Well, he certainly made an impact", she sighed. She tied a small, leftover green ribbon around his neck.
It read: Participant — Special Mention.
Outside, Reza landed on his paws. Marcello was waiting. He looked at the green ribbon.
"They kicked you out, biondino?" Marcello asked.
Reza smoothed his ruffled fur. He looked at the ribbon. He looked at the venue. He took a deep breath and immediately composed a mental press release.
"Kicked out?" Reza purred, adjusting his ribbon. "Absolutely not. I made a strategic exit. I realized the indoor market was too small for my ideas. I went in there with nothing but a dream, and I left with an award for Special Merit. That is growth. That is the journey."
Marcello shook his head, smiling. "And the tuna samples?"
Reza sniffed haughtily. "Tuna is a distraction from the mission. The mission is Legacy."
He strutted down the Roman street, tail high, already planning a seminar on "How I Conquered the SuperCat Show in Under Four Minutes."
"I'm thrilled to announce I have been awarded for my unique contribution", he whispered to himself. "It's not about the trophy. It's about the disruption. #Hustle #CatBoss #Rome."
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: It's fun to be confident, but crashing a party and knocking things over isn't "disrupting" — it's just naughty! True leaders wait their turn and treat everyone with kindness.
Night night. Sleep tight.