Story 145: Reza Shadey and the Shadowy Cabinet
Snuggle down, little ones. Tonight's tale concerns ambition, delusion, and the precise number of cats required to form a credible opposition.
It began, as all great political movements do, with the wireless. Mrs Higgins was listening to the afternoon news, her tea growing cold as a journalist announced: "The new frontbench team has been unveiled today, styled as a 'shadow cabinet' — a government in waiting."
Reza Shadey's ears rotated like satellite dishes. A government in waiting? He turned this phrase over in his magnificent mind. Waiting for what, precisely? The correct moment? A lapse in border security? The humans were always waiting for something. Reza preferred taking.
He leapt onto the kitchen table — gracefully, mostly — and landed directly across the newspaper Mrs Higgins had been reading. He looked down. There was a photo of a certain famous tabby cat on the steps of Number 10 Downing Street. The caption read: "Chief Mouser Larry: Served under six Prime Ministers."
Reza froze. His emerald eyes widened.
Six.
If Larry the Cat had served six Prime Ministers... that meant history would eventually require a seventh. And that seventh could, theoretically, be him. Not merely a Prime Minister. Larry's Prime Minister. Larry's boss.
Reza's tail flicked slowly. "Oh", he whispered to himself. "We are thinking far too small."
By three o'clock, the garden fence had been converted into a press conference podium. A cardboard box (commandeered from the recycling) bore a paw-print logo drawn in mud and the slogan: REFORM CATFORD — STRONGER PURRITAIN.
Penelope sat to one side, her white fur arranged in an expression of mild existential resignation. Ginger Tom sprawled behind a geranium, already napping. Tiger bounced in place, serving simultaneously as press corps, security detail, and heckler.
Reza cleared his throat with the gravity of a man about to announce a cabinet reshuffle. "Citizens of Catford", he began. "I stand before you as a leader of vision. Today, I unveil my shadow cabinet."
Penelope blinked slowly. "Rezzi, we don't have a cabinet. We don't even have a cupboard."
"The shadow", said Reza smoothly, "is the point." He gestured grandly. "Penelope shall be Shadow Secretary for Moral Superiority."
Penelope sighed. It was the sigh of someone who had been appointed to many imaginary roles and suspected this one came with no actual budget.
"Ginger Tom shall oversee Biscuit Redistribution."
Tom's ear twitched. He hadn't been asleep at all, the cunning old fraud. "Redistribution to whom, exactly?"
"To me", said Reza. "Obviously. I am the redistribution target. It's called supply-side snack economics."
"And Tiger", Reza continued, "shall serve as Minister for Energetic Enforcement."
Tiger's eyes lit up. "Can I enforce bouncing?"
"You may enforce nothing but."
Tiger immediately began enforcing bounce on a passing woodlouse. A magpie landed on the fence. The press had arrived. Tiger appointed himself press correspondent and began the questioning with the ferocity of a much smaller, bouncier interviewer.
"Prime Minister Shadey! What are your plans for sunbeam inequality?"
Reza waved a dismissive paw. "Fake issue. All sunbeams are equal under my leadership."
Penelope cleared her throat. "The sunny patch by the lavender gets four more hours of light than the shady bit near the shed. I've measured."
Reza narrowed his eyes. "Clearly biased reporting. You own stock in lavender."
Ginger Tom raised a lazy paw. "Are we actually in charge of anything?"
Reza drew himself up to his full dramatic height. This was the question he had been waiting for. "My colleagues", he said, lowering his voice to a purr of statecraft, "you misunderstand the nature of shadow government. We are not in charge. We are waiting to be in charge. There is a difference."
"Which is?"
"Vibes."
Reza continued, pacing along the fence. "Consider, if you will, a certain long-serving London-based mouser. Resident of Downing Street. Six Prime Ministers have commanded him."
Penelope's eyes widened. "Oh no."
"Oh yes", said Reza. "But consider: six Prime Ministers. Which means there shall eventually be a seventh."
Tiger gasped. "You'd be his boss?"
Reza turned slowly, allowing the afternoon light to catch his emerald eyes. "Yes."
The silence was profound. Even the woodlouse stopped moving.
"That's why you want to be Prime Minister?" said Penelope. "To outrank another cat?"
Reza's whiskers twitched. "Leadership is about vision. Strategy. Long-term thinking." He paused. "But yes."
At that precise moment, the back door opened. Mrs Higgins stepped into the garden, tea towel in hand, and surveyed the scene: one cardboard podium, four cats arranged in a rough crescent, and one magpie looking deeply unimpressed.
"What on earth are you lot doing?"
Reza straightened his posture. "Madam", he declared, "you are witnessing the formation of a shadow cabinet. A government in waiting. The beginning of—"
"You're on the recycling again." Mrs Higgins picked up the cardboard box. "Reza, this is the third box this week."
"That box contained my manifesto!"
"It contained tissues."
Mrs Higgins smiled in that way humans do when they are simultaneously amused and utterly unmoved by your political ambitions. She scooped him up. To Mrs Higgins, this was her dramatic Persian being lifted away from rubbish. To Reza, it was the tragic early suppression of a reform movement by the very establishment he sought to overthrow.
As she carried him inside, she stroked his magnificent chocolate-and-black fur. "You're not Prime Minister, Reza", she said softly. "You're just my silly boy."
Just.
Reza gazed out of the window as they passed. The garden receded. His shadow cabinet dispersed. Tiger bounced sadly back towards the lavender.
But somewhere in London, Reza knew, a tabby was napping on a Downing Street radiator, blissfully unaware that his seventh Prime Minister was currently being placed on a doughnut bed in Catford. Reza curled his tail around himself.
"Enjoy it while you can, Larry. History requires a seventh. And history always catches up."
From his bed, Reza watched the evening news. The human politician was on screen again, standing behind a crescent of lecterns, blue lights glowing. "Shadow cabinet", the journalist called it.
Reza's ears twitched. "Shadowy cabinet, more like", he mused. "His Shadey cabinet had been smaller, yes. But also genuine. Penelope truly believed in moral superiority. Ginger Tom genuinely wanted biscuits. Tiger was energetic enforcement."
Reza closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would relaunch. Perhaps with a different slogan. Something about naps. The nation loved naps. And somewhere, a mouser slept soundly under his sixth Prime Minister.
"Seventh's the charm", Reza thought. "Seventh's the charm."
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: Cardboard boxes are great fun for playing, but climbing on wobbly things can be dangerous! Always make sure your 'podium' is safe and steady before you make a big speech.
Night night. Sleep tight.