Story 162: Reza Shadey and the Binfluencer Incident
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy Persian cat who discovered that becoming famous on the internet is much easier than becoming dignified again afterwards.
It began on a Tuesday.
Reza Shadey considered Tuesday the ideal day for enterprise and innovation. Monday was far too crowded with backlog complaints, and Friday was entirely distracted by weekend scaling strategies. Tuesday was where serious visionaries operated.
Mrs Higgins was inside the kitchen listening to Radio 4 and buttering thick slices of granary toast. Reza had absolutely no intention of sharing the toast.
Instead, he was conducting what he called a "Market Sounding Expedition" around the back alley, looking for strategic community opportunities in line with Lewisham Council's excellent recycling initiatives.
That was when he saw it.
The large garden waste bin stood beside the kerb, its lid slightly ajar.
Reza froze.
Earlier that morning, Mrs Higgins had been listening to a programme about famous internet moments.
One story in particular had caught his attention.
A cat had once been placed in a wheelie bin.
Millions of humans had watched the footage.
Millions.
Millions.
The details after that had seemed largely administrative.
Reza's emerald eyes narrowed.
"Interesting."
To an ordinary cat, it looked like a garden waste bin.
To Reza Shadey, it looked like a proven route to fame.
He hurried back into the garden.
"Penelope", he announced. "I have completed a market analysis."
Penelope looked up from washing her left paw beside the lavender bush.
"Have you?"
"Indeed. History demonstrates that bins possess extraordinary audience-generation capabilities."
Penelope blinked.
"What?"
"The evidence is overwhelming. One cat. One bin. Millions of views."
Penelope stared.
"Rezzi, I don't think the cat became famous on purpose."
Reza nodded solemnly.
"Exactly."
"...Exactly?"
"Organic reach. The most valuable kind."
Penelope closed her eyes.
"Oh dear."
"The neighbourhood is currently suffering from a severe shortage of leadership", continued Reza. "Humans crave local stories. I shall transform this garden waste bin into a broadcasting studio."
"I'm fairly sure they're supposed to contain garden waste."
"Exactly. Untapped opportunity."
Twenty minutes later, Operation Binfluencer was live.
Tiger had balanced the iPad perfectly on the fence post and started a livestream entitled:
CEO Reza Shadey Investigates Local Garden Waste Crisis — LIVE!
Reza had climbed elegantly into the bin.
It smelled of grass cuttings, leaves, twigs, and poor decision-making.
He sat proudly amongst the contents, one pristine white paw resting upon the rim.
An empty yoghurt pot sat jauntily upon his head.
Executive headwear.
"Are you comfortable in there?" asked Penelope.
"I am revolutionising local broadcasting."
The stream exploded almost immediately.
"Boss!" cried Tiger.
"What are the numbers?"
"Over fifty viewers already! Somebody thinks you've been taken over by the council!"
"Excellent."
"Somebody else says this is exactly what they'd expect from you."
"Brand consistency."
"Shah Fluffybutt just joined."
Reza straightened.
"At last. A serious industry observer."
Tiger squinted at the screen.
"He sent a thumbs-down."
Reza nodded.
"Engagement is engagement."
The viewer count climbed.
One hundred.
Two hundred.
Reza purred.
"The public yearns for leadership."
Then came the one external variable no business plan could ever fully account for.
Mrs Higgins.
The back door clicked open.
Out stepped Mrs Higgins carrying a small bag of grass cuttings.
She stopped.
"Oh."
Nobody moved.
"There you all are."
Reza froze.
The viewer count surged again.
"Tom", he whispered urgently. "Initiate the emergency extraction protocol. Discreetly."
Ginger Tom looked up from a biscuit.
"What's the protocol?"
"I haven't designed it yet."
"Thought so."
For a long moment nobody spoke.
Then Reza nodded calmly.
"Mrs Higgins, what you are witnessing is a highly sophisticated deepfake."
Mrs Higgins put her hands on her hips.
"Reza, you're sitting in the garden waste bin."
"An optical illusion caused by innovative backyard lighting."
"I can see your tail."
Reza glanced behind himself.
"Computer-generated tail."
"It's moving."
"Advanced rendering."
"You've got a yoghurt pot on your head."
Reza paused.
Slowly, he removed it.
"Post-production error."
Mrs Higgins folded her arms.
"Reza."
"Yes?"
"How exactly have you created a deepfake of yourself?"
Reza opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Thought very hard.
"Through leadership."
Mrs Higgins laughed.
Penelope sighed.
"You're stuck, Rezzi."
"I am strategically positioned for maximum visibility."
"You're wedged between a lawn clipping bag and a branch."
"I prefer the term embedded."
Reza attempted a dignified exit.
Nothing happened.
He pushed with his front paws.
Nothing happened.
He wriggled.
The bin wobbled.
A small avalanche of grass cuttings slid onto his head.
"Everything remains under executive control."
"Tom."
Ginger Tom looked up from a biscuit.
"Hmm?"
"We may now proceed to the emergency extraction protocol."
"What's the protocol?"
"Push the bin."
Ginger Tom gave the bin a firm shove.
CRASH!
It tipped sideways and out rolled Reza Shadey on live camera.
He tumbled across the patio.
Through a flowerbed.
Over Mrs Higgins's gardening clogs.
Under a small shrub.
Then ricocheted gently off a watering can.
Finally, he came to rest beside the fence covered in compost, grass clippings, and half a teabag.
The chat exploded.
The viewer count doubled.
For a moment Reza sat perfectly still.
Then he rose.
Straightened his magnificent compost-flecked fur.
Removed the teabag.
And nodded directly at the camera.
"Exactly as planned."
The comments flew past faster than Tiger on a sugar rush.
"A masterclass in authentic engagement", continued Reza. "The algorithm rewards authentic adversity. Thank you for attending this live demonstration of responsible recycling awareness."
Mrs Higgins laughed so hard she nearly dropped the grass cuttings.
Later that evening, freshly bathed and smelling faintly of lavender shampoo, Reza lounged upon his velvet cushion like a returning hero.
Penelope sat nearby.
"You fell out of a garden waste bin on a livestream, Rezzi."
"I transformed a garden waste bin into a platform for public engagement while promoting responsible recycling."
"You got stuck."
"The public appreciates authenticity."
Tiger burst into the room.
"Boss! The recording has thousands of views!"
Reza sat upright.
"Naturally."
"Everybody's calling you the Binfluencer!"
Reza's eyes gleamed.
"The Binfluencer."
"Also", said Tiger. "The council emailed."
Reza blinked.
"They did?"
"Yep. They said you are not an approved item for the garden waste stream."
For a moment Reza considered this.
Then he settled deeper into his cushion.
"Excellent."
"Excellent?"
"Brand recognition."
He thought for another moment.
"Few innovators ever receive formal correspondence from local government."
He closed his eyes.
"Tomorrow", he said, "we optimise the blue recycling box."
And within moments he was asleep, dreaming of sponsorship deals, executive yoghurt pots, and scalable waste-management partnerships.
A Very Important Message from Mrs Higgins
Garden waste bins are for grass cuttings, leaves, twigs and other garden waste — not curious pets.
If you ever see an animal trapped somewhere unsafe, tell a grown-up straight away and let them help.
And if the trapped animal happens to be Reza Shadey?
Open the lid first.
The speech — and the live stream — will almost certainly come afterwards.
Night night. Sleep tight.