The Adventures of Reza Shadey

Story 165: Reza Shadey and the Un-Moggable Cat

Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a magnificently fluffy Persian cat who overheard a very silly corner of the human internet and decided he was not merely part of it — he was its undisputed boss.

It was a drizzly afternoon in Catford. Mrs Higgins sat in her favourite armchair knitting a suspiciously long neon-pink scarf. On the kitchen table, her tablet glowed softly while the radio murmured nearby.

"...and this trend known as 'mogging', meaning to physically outshine or dominate someone else, has become increasingly popular..."

The presenter went on to explain how this involved trying to achieve an impossible level of physical perfection, complete with chiselled jawlines, perfect photographs, and endless comparisons with other people.

Reza Shadey froze halfway through grooming his magnificent chest fluff. His emerald eyes narrowed.

"Mogging?" he purred. "Strategic superiority through sheer physical presence. Humans have finally formalised what I, Reza Shadey, have been executing flawlessly for years."

He trotted over to the toaster and inspected his reflection. As a Persian cat, Reza possessed a magnificently round, fluffy face designed for maximum comfort and executive cuddling. Sharp angles were entirely absent.

"A jawline", he scoffed, "is a structural liability. It creates aerodynamic drag and interferes with cushion immersion."

But as he studied his reflection, a troubling idea took hold.

What if his personal brand required optimisation?

True leaders could not risk losing their position at the top of the attractiveness market.

He slipped through the cat flap and crossed the damp garden to find his associates. Tiger, the bouncy kitten, was chasing a leaf. Penelope sat nearby, watching serenely.

"Attention, stakeholders!" Reza announced. "We are launching Operation Sigma Optimisation."

Tiger skidded to a halt.

"Is that like a new game? Bet."

"It means", Reza declared grandly, "that only the elite cats receive access to premium sunbeam real estate. Naturally, attractiveness follows a Pareto distribution."

Tiger blinked.

"The what?"

"The famous eighty-twenty rule. Twenty percent of participants capture eighty percent of outcomes."

Tiger stared.

"What outcomes?"

"Sunbeams. Cushions. Treats. General admiration. Strategic ear scratches."

Reza began pacing.

"It all makes sense now. Mogging is merely the visual manifestation of an underlying power-law distribution."

Tiger looked alarmed.

"Is that bad?"

"Potentially catastrophic. If I am not within the top twenty percent, I may find myself relegated to secondary blanket allocation."

"There's a top twenty percent?"

"Naturally."

Tiger looked down at himself.

"How do you know who's in it?"

Reza lowered his voice.

"The distribution has a heavy tail."

Tiger immediately spun around to look at his own tail.

"Mine doesn't feel especially heavy."

"Not that sort of tail."

Tiger looked at Penelope.

"What sort of tail is it?"

Penelope sighed.

"The imaginary sort Reza has just invented."

Tiger looked down at himself.

"I don't even know what percent I am."

"Concerning", Reza agreed.

Tiger's ears drooped.

"I don't have a jawline, Reza. Am I just a normie?"

Penelope stepped forward immediately.

"Tiger, you are a kitten."

"Yeah, but am I an elite kitten?"

"You once got your head stuck in a watering can."

"It was tactical reconnaissance."

"You also ran into a hedge because you forgot you were chasing your own tail."

Tiger thought about this.

"Fair."

Penelope gave his ear a reassuring lick.

"You don't need a jawline. You're funny, brave, and a good friend. Those things matter much more."

Tiger brightened slightly.

"Can those be elite too?"

"Those are the truly elite ones", Penelope said.

Reza frowned.

"That is not what the market research suggests."

"You got your market research from a radio programme", Penelope replied.

Reza ignored this entirely.

"I, however, shall lead by example. Emergency hardware acquisition is required."

He marched behind the shed to find Sinan the Raccoon.

Sinan was sorting yoghurt pots into categories of colour and approximate stickiness.

"I require intimidation augmentation", Reza demanded.

Sinan considered this carefully.

"Current market conditions suggest a premium package."

He disappeared into his collection and returned carrying Mrs Higgins's old reading glasses. One lens was missing. The surviving lens was smudged. The frame appeared to have been repaired with blue Blu-Tack and what might once have been a bread tie.

"Executive Edition", Sinan said.

Reza inspected them.

"Do they project authority?"

"No."

"Dominance?"

"No."

"Hunter eyes?"

"No."

"What do they do?"

Sinan shrugged.

"They make you look like you've got very strong opinions about train timetables."

"Excellent. I'll take them."

"That'll be three salmon treats."

"Deferred payment upon successful IPO."

"Of course it is", sighed Sinan.

Back on the patio, Reza balanced the broken spectacles on his furry nose.

The single lens magnified his left eye dramatically, making him look like a very confused owl who had just received an unexpected tax bill.

"Observe my optimised presentation", Reza declared.

"Witness my hunter-eye asymmetry."

Tiger tilted his head.

"You look like Mrs Higgins when she can't find her reading glasses."

"It is a deliberate strategic adaptation!" Reza huffed.

He strutted across the patio, attempting what he imagined was a powerful executive walk.

Unfortunately, the glasses slipped sideways.

He walked directly into a flowerpot.

CLONK.

There was a brief silence.

"Was that part of the optimisation?" asked Tiger.

"Yes", said Reza immediately. "The impact has sharpened my profile."

Penelope sighed the sigh of a cat who had witnessed entirely too many Reza Shadey business ventures.

She walked over to Tiger and gave his ear another comforting lick.

"Tiger", she purred softly, "don't listen to this nonsense. A great sense of humour, being kind, and being a loyal friend are the things that actually build a happy life."

"Those are un-moggable traits."

Before Reza could formulate a response, the back door clicked open.

Mrs Higgins stepped outside carrying her mug of tea.

She stopped and looked at Reza.

The glasses.

The magnified eye.

The flowerpot.

The expression of complete confidence.

"Oh, Reza", she chuckled. "Have you been playing with my old glasses, you silly sausage?"

She gently removed them.

"You don't need spectacles."

She stroked his fluffy head.

"And you certainly don't need to change that beautiful face."

Reza's brain immediately began rebranding events.

"Mrs Higgins", he announced, "you have not terminated my campaign."

"I haven't?"

"No. You have facilitated a strategic pivot."

"I have?"

"The true visionary operates beyond superficial eyewear."

Ginger Tom wandered in from the rain.

"Wot'd I miss?"

"Reza tried to reinvent his face", said Penelope.

"With broken glasses."

Tom considered this carefully.

Then he headed straight for the food bowl.

"Classic."

That evening, freshly groomed and smelling faintly of lavender shampoo, Reza curled up on his velvet cushion.

For several minutes he thought very hard.

Finally he nodded to himself.

"I have reached a groundbreaking conclusion."

Penelope opened one eye.

"Oh dear."

"The entire optimisation industry has been approaching the problem backwards."

"Have they?"

"Humans attempt to become more attractive through effort. I, meanwhile, have achieved premium attractiveness through strategic fluff acquisition."

"You were born fluffy, Rezzi."

"Exactly. Natural market leadership."

He settled deeper into his cushion.

"The truly elite twenty percent", he purred sleepily, "are simply those cats who happen to look most like me."

"Convenient", said Penelope.

"Visionary", corrected Reza.

Within moments he was snoring.

Night night. Sleep tight.