Story 159: Reza Shadey and the Queue of Chaos
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones.
Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy cat who discovered that rudeness is a matter of perspective — and that his own perspective was, naturally, the correct one.
It began on a Tuesday morning, which Reza Shadey considered the least efficient day of the week. Too far from the weekend to feel hopeful, yet far too close to Monday to inspire confidence.
He was lounging on his favourite windowsill like a king inspecting his kingdom. His sleek brown-and-black fur gleamed in the sunshine, and his emerald green eyes narrowed suspiciously as he surveyed the garden below.
The birds were being adequately bird-like.
Penelope was washing her face with the sort of calm dignity Reza found either admirable or deeply irritating.
And, most disappointingly of all, the garden had not produced a single interesting crisis in nearly four hours.
Then —
A delivery van screeched to a halt outside.
The engine coughed once, twice, and fell silent with the weary sound of something that had simply given up on life.
A young man in a slightly-too-tight polo shirt jumped out clutching a cardboard box and a clipboard. He hurried up the garden path and thrust the clipboard toward Mrs Higgins.
"Sign here, Bea", he barked.
Mrs Higgins blinked.
From inside the window, Reza's magnificent tail puffed up to twice its usual size.
"Bea?!"
He pressed his nose against the glass.
"The absolute cheek of it! Her full title is Mrs Beatrice Higgins — Supreme Provider of Salmon and Keeper of Excellent Blankets! Familiarity is a privilege earned through loyal service and demonstrated snack competency!"
Mrs Higgins signed the clipboard anyway.
The van disappeared with an unpleasant growl.
Reza remained frozen in disbelief.
"He called her Bea", he whispered to a passing spider. "In her own jurisdiction."
The spider, who had its own concerns, continued walking.
But Reza's outrage vanished completely the moment Mrs Higgins opened the box.
Inside sat a sleek silver machine with a shiny red button.
AUTO-SNACKER 3000
INSTANT TREAT DISPENSING
Reza's whiskers twitched.
"Oh", he whispered reverently. "Now this changes everything."
Mrs Higgins carried the machine onto the patio and placed it carefully on a low wooden table.
Within minutes, the garden cats had gathered.
Penelope sat neatly at the front of a polite queue, white fur pristine and tail curled elegantly around her paws.
Behind her stood Ginger Tom, already looking hopeful.
At the very back bounced Tiger, barely able to contain himself.
"Is this the snack machine? Can we press it? What if we press it twice? Or seventeen times? Seventeen feels lucky."
"Tiger", Penelope said gently, "we are queueing."
"Oh. Right."
Tiger bounced once more for good measure.
The queue was calm.
Orderly.
Civilised.
And Reza Shadey was having absolutely none of it.
He stepped through the cat flap, took one look at the neat line of cats, and scoffed.
"A queue?" he muttered. "How terribly ordinary."
Without hesitation, he marched past Tiger, accidentally stood on Ginger Tom's paw —
"Oi!"
— and inserted himself directly in front of Penelope.
"Make way", he announced grandly. "A machine of this importance requires expert supervision."
Penelope sighed — a sigh perfected through many years of knowing Reza Shadey.
"Really, Rezzi? We were all waiting our turn."
"Waiting", Reza replied smoothly, inspecting one paw, "is inefficient."
Tiger bounced forward.
"Whoa, Reza! Queue-jumping is proper sus."
Reza blinked.
His magnificent brain attempted a translation.
Sus? Surely an abbreviation for Superbly Unique Supervisor.
That sounded correct.
"I assume", he said generously, "that was intended as a compliment."
Tiger frowned.
"...What?"
Ginger Tom yawned.
"Mate. Just press the button."
Reza puffed out his chest.
"Observe", he declared dramatically, raising one fluffy paw, "the masterful technique of a true professional."
He pressed the shiny red button.
Unfortunately, in his eagerness to demonstrate superiority, Reza had failed to notice one very important detail.
The machine was not set to:
Single Treat
It was set to:
RAPID FIRE JACKPOT MODE
BEEP-BOP-WHIRRRRR!
The machine shuddered.
It rattled.
Then —
PCHOO! PCHOO! PCHOO!
An explosion of crunchy biscuits erupted across the patio like edible fireworks.
One bounced off Reza's nose.
Another vanished into his magnificent chest fluff.
A third ricocheted off one startled ear.
"YEEEOOOWW!"
Reza leapt backwards.
His paws slipped on the growing carpet of biscuits.
He performed a wildly undignified spin —
—and landed bottom-first inside Mrs Higgins's watering can with an enormous:
CLANG!
His back legs waved helplessly in the air.
From inside the watering can came a muffled cry.
"This is a controlled safety inspection!"
Outside, the garden descended into glorious chaos.
Penelope calmly selected one biscuit and nibbled it with perfect manners.
Ginger Tom simply rolled onto his side, opened his mouth, and let the treats rain directly in.
"Best invention ever", he mumbled happily.
Tiger zigzagged around the patio catching flying biscuits.
"Epic fail, Reza! But honestly? Elite snacks!"
From inside the watering can came another indignant shout.
"The snack velocity is clearly unsafe for civilian use!"
Mrs Higgins hurried outside.
She took in the scattered biscuits, the delighted cats, and her very stuck, very fluffy Persian.
"Oh, Reza Shadey", she sighed fondly. "Did you not wait your turn again, you silly sausage?"
"I was not skipping the queue!" Reza huffed from inside the can. "I was conducting an essential machinery assessment. Frankly, the biscuit velocity seems highly concerning."
Mrs Higgins chuckled and gently tipped the watering can sideways.
Out tumbled Reza — fluffy, dusty, and deeply offended.
"There we are", she said kindly, brushing biscuit crumbs from his fur.
Reza stood up, shook himself vigorously —
fwump-fwump-fwump —
and immediately began grooming himself with the intensity of someone erasing evidence.
"I have completed the inspection", he announced to no one in particular. "The machine passes. Barely."
Tiger skidded over.
"So... can we press it again?"
"No."
"Seventeen times?"
"No."
That evening, as the garden turned golden in the setting sun, Reza sat on his favourite windowsill grooming biscuit dust from his magnificent fur.
Below, Penelope and Ginger Tom snoozed peacefully.
Tiger had finally exhausted himself and lay sprawled across the grass like a tiny striped rug.
Reza considered the day's events very carefully.
"Manners", he reasoned quietly, "are clearly of great importance."
He flicked his tail.
"Had that delivery fellow addressed Mrs Higgins properly, I would never have been distracted from my strategic napping schedule. I would never have felt compelled to intervene in the queue."
He nodded slowly.
"Therefore, the entire incident — the queue-jumping, the biscuit catastrophe, the watering can — was entirely his fault."
A pause.
"The Bea offender."
Satisfied with this flawless piece of reasoning, Reza Shadey curled himself into a perfect fluffy ball and closed his eyes.
Another adventure with Reza Shadey — full of grand ideas, cheerful chaos, and absolutely no lessons learned.
Night night. Sleep tight.