Story 164: Reza Shadey Through the Looking-Glass
Okay, little ones, snuggle down tight. This is the story of the afternoon Reza Shadey accidentally attended the most important business awards ceremony in the world, won an award he wasn't nominated for, and proved absolutely nothing except that he was still Reza Shadey.
It was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday afternoon in Catford.
Ordinary, that is, until Mrs Higgins turned up the volume on her tablet.
"The Great British Entrepreneur Awards!" boomed an enthusiastic voice. "Often called the Grammys of Entrepreneurship! Celebrating the brightest founders, the boldest innovators, and the most visionary business leaders of 2026!"
Reza Shadey, who had been enjoying a strategic nap on the hallway console table, opened one emerald eye.
Then the other.
"Visionaries?" he thought.
His magnificent brown-and-black fur immediately puffed up.
"A national gathering of entrepreneurial excellence, and my invitation has somehow been misplaced. Extraordinary. The administrative failures of modern society continue to amaze me."
The voice on the tablet continued.
"Tonight, we celebrate those who dared to dream big!"
Reza sat upright.
"Dared to dream big? I founded Purr-to-Power™. I pioneered Vertical Nap Integration. I disrupted the garden surveillance sector. Frankly, these people are standing on my shoulders."
Mrs Higgins glanced over.
"Oh, Reza", she laughed. "You'd probably nominate yourself for every category."
Reza narrowed his eyes.
"Only the important categories", he thought.
He turned toward the large hallway mirror.
The cat staring back looked distinguished.
Visionary.
Award-worthy.
Possibly legendary.
He leaned closer.
The mirror rippled.
Reza blinked.
The glass shimmered like water.
He reached out one fluffy paw.
The surface felt soft.
Soft and strangely welcoming.
Like a very expensive networking opportunity.
"Hmm", said Reza.
Then, without a second thought, he stepped forward.
The world vanished.
He tumbled head over paws through a swirling tunnel filled with floating spreadsheets, spinning pie charts, glittering trophies, and PowerPoint presentations that seemed to be chasing each other.
At last he landed with a soft thump.
Reza sat up.
He was standing on a giant black-and-white chessboard floor.
Above him hung crystal chandeliers.
Golden banners floated in the air.
And directly overhead was an enormous sign.
THE LOOKING-GLASS GRAMMYS OF ENTREPRENEURSHIP
Reza adjusted his whiskers.
"Excellent", he purred.
"My global reputation appears to have arrived before me."
He began striding toward a distant stage covered in sparkling trophies.
Immediately, two plump squirrels dropped from nowhere and blocked his path.
They were identical.
They wore matching waistcoats.
Matching spectacles.
And matching expressions of administrative panic.
"I'm Tweedle-Pitch!" squeaked one.
"And I'm Tweedle-Deck!" squeaked the other.
They thrust clipboards under his nose.
"Are you pre-revenue?"
"Post-revenue?"
"Negative revenue?"
"Revenue-adjacent?"
"Have you pivoted?"
"Have you disrupted?"
"Have you synergised?"
Reza stared.
"I am Reza Shadey."
The squirrels scribbled furiously.
"Interesting."
"Concerning."
"Potentially taxable."
"I transcend your quarterly metrics", Reza declared.
The squirrels gasped.
"He's one of those founders."
They hurried away at once.
Reza continued toward the stage.
Or at least he tried to.
The more he walked, the further away it became.
He frowned.
He walked faster.
The stage moved away faster.
He trotted.
The stage retreated.
He broke into a run.
Several minutes later he found himself standing exactly where he had started.
"This system is deeply flawed", he announced.
"Of course it is!" boomed a voice.
A figure marched toward him.
Orange fur.
Golden gavel.
Scroll of regulations.
And, for reasons nobody could explain, a glittering red tutu.
"Ginger Tom?" said Reza.
"I am the Red Queen!" declared Tom.
His tutu twirled majestically.
"In this market, it takes all the running you can do just to stay in the same place!"
Reza blinked.
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is."
"And if I wish to reach the stage?"
"You must run twice as fast."
"Board-level executives do not run", Reza replied. "They attend meetings about running."
The Red Queen groaned.
Then a striped blur shot past.
Tiger.
Naturally.
"Boss! Boss! Are we doing running?"
"We are delegating running", said Reza.
Tiger's eyes widened.
"That's even better!"
"You are hereby promoted to Chief Locomotion Officer."
"BET!"
Tiger accelerated instantly.
He disappeared.
A few seconds later he reappeared.
Then disappeared again.
Then reappeared upside down.
"I've run to next Thursday!" he shouted.
"How was it?" asked Reza.
"Mid."
Tiger vanished again.
The Red Queen buried his face in his paws.
"You don't understand the rules at all."
"On the contrary", said Reza. "I have optimised them."
Before the argument could continue, a calm voice drifted across the ballroom.
"Good afternoon, Rezzi."
Penelope glided toward them.
She wore a silver crown made from paperclips.
Her dress seemed woven from cobwebs and knitting wool.
"I am the White Queen", she explained.
"I remember tomorrow."
Reza sighed.
"Of course you do."
Penelope smiled.
"I also remember next Tuesday. You lose."
"That's unfortunate."
"It already happened."
"Even more unfortunate."
"But yesterday you hadn't lost yet."
"That sounds preferable."
"It was."
Reza rubbed his forehead.
"Temporal management remains one of my weaker skill sets."
Penelope nodded sympathetically.
"I have tuna yesterday and tuna tomorrow."
"Do you have salmon today?"
"No."
"Then this system is fundamentally broken."
As they spoke, applause suddenly erupted.
A brass band began playing.
Confetti exploded.
A trophy was awarded.
Nobody appeared surprised.
Reza looked around.
"What happened?"
"The award ceremony started", said Penelope.
"But nobody made any speeches."
"They haven't happened yet."
"When do they happen?"
"After the awards."
"That's ridiculous."
"Yes", said Penelope. "It's very efficient."
Further ahead stood a towering wall made entirely of cardboard boxes.
Every box was labelled:
PROJECTIONS
ESTIMATES
FUTURE GROWTH
ABSOLUTELY REAL NUMBERS
At the very top sat a giant egg wearing spectacles and a bow tie.
Humpty Dumpty.
He looked down.
"When I use a word", he declared grandly, "it means exactly what I choose it to mean."
Reza sighed.
"Not this again."
"For example, 'profit' means a pile of old leaves under a hedge."
"Naturally."
"'Success' means Reza Shadey falling into a pond."
"Objectively false."
"And 'synergy' means three raccoons sharing a wheelbarrow."
"That one at least sounds plausible."
Humpty adjusted his spectacles.
"Pitch your business."
Reza glanced longingly at the enormous diamond biscuit trophy sitting beside the egg.
Then he began.
"My pile of old leaves under a hedge increased by three hundred percent."
Humpty nodded approvingly.
"My Reza Shadey falling into a pond achieved record growth."
"Excellent."
"And my wheelbarrow-sharing raccoons successfully disrupted the local ecosystem."
"Outstanding!"
Humpty clapped enthusiastically.
Several boxes wobbled.
Reza eyed the trophy.
The trophy gleamed.
The trophy sparkled.
The trophy practically whispered his name.
He prepared to climb.
Then he paused.
Something felt wrong.
Everyone here kept telling him to run.
Climb.
Chase.
Rush.
Compete.
But every time he did, he got nowhere.
Penelope was already nodding.
She remembered tomorrow, after all.
The Red Queen sighed.
Tiger ran past carrying a muffin.
Then ran past again carrying the same muffin.
Reza sat down.
Crossed his paws.
And thought.
For perhaps the first time all day.
"In a backwards world", he murmured, "perhaps success requires the strategic non-performance of success."
The Red Queen groaned.
"Oh no."
Penelope smiled.
"Oh yes."
Reza closed his eyes.
He sat perfectly still.
The ballroom fell silent.
Nothing happened.
Then everything happened.
The stage began moving toward him.
The trophies floated across the room.
The judges applauded.
The band started playing backwards.
Tweedle-Pitch and Tweedle-Deck reappeared.
"He's doing nothing!"
"It's a masterclass!"
"Revolutionary!"
"Visionary!"
The Red Queen threw up his paws.
"He wins."
The giant diamond biscuit trophy floated gently down and landed directly in front of Reza.
Reza opened one eye.
"Aha", he purred.
"I knew relentless inactivity would eventually generate shareholder value."
He reached forward to claim the prize.
And at that exact moment—
VROOOOOOM!
Reza's eyes snapped open.
The ballroom vanished.
The trophies vanished.
The squirrels vanished.
He was lying on the hallway rug.
Mrs Higgins stood over him holding the vacuum cleaner.
"Oh, Reza, you silly sausage", she laughed. "Did you fall asleep staring at yourself in the mirror again?"
Reza stood up immediately and shook his fur.
The mirror was ordinary glass.
The award ceremony was gone.
The trophy was gone.
Even the tutu was gone.
"I was not asleep", Reza announced.
"I was conducting an immersive executive audit of the international awards sector."
Mrs Higgins smiled.
"Of course you were."
"I have concluded that the judging process is fundamentally flawed. They clearly withheld my trophy to avoid discouraging the other nominees."
Naturally.
He marched toward the kitchen.
His dignity remained intact.
His confidence remained intact.
And most importantly of all, he was reasonably certain there might be pâté.
Outside, Ginger Tom slept peacefully in a patch of sunlight, blissfully unaware that he had recently been a regulatory monarch in a tutu.
Penelope washed her paws, already remembering tomorrow.
Tiger ran past the garden gate at top speed.
Nobody knew where he was going.
Tiger didn't know either.
But he was having an excellent time.
A very important safety note from Mrs Higgins:
Hallway tables are meant for keys and letters, not for climbing on, and heavy mirrors should always be secured properly. Falling from furniture can give you a nasty bump. And if you ever meet an egg in spectacles who starts redefining words, it's probably time for a nice sit-down and a cup of tea.
Night night. Sleep tight.