Story 167: Reza Shadey and the Strategic Relocation
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy cat who briefly considered relocating his entire empire to Cambridge... and then conducted a very thorough review of that decision.
The platform at Liverpool Street Station was a masterclass in human inefficiency, and Reza was tracking every micro-second of wasted labour.
As Mrs Higgins fussed over a leaky thermos of Earl Grey and wrestled with a knitted cardigan that looked as though it had been assembled by a committee of confused pigeons, Reza sat perfectly poised on her vintage hard-shell suitcase.
His tail curled around his paws.
His whiskers pointed forward.
His expression suggested he was moments away from acquiring the railway.
He had a train to catch, an empire to scale, and a major correction to make to his professional profile.
Slipping his mind into drafting mode, he began composing his latest LinkedIn update.
Experience Update — Chief Executive Feline & Business Transformation Lead
"Despite initial resistance to change, I successfully delivered a strategic relocation programme, moving our headquarters from a rundown, sub-optimal location in Catford to the high-density innovation ecosystem of Cambridge. The upgraded environment immediately attracted top-tier talent and enabled a culture of operational excellence.
With new executive leadership now firmly in place (me), the team designed the most advanced bio-engineered OXO cube in the world, projected to contribute approximately $30 million in annual revenue to Sinan the Raccoon, with multiple next-generation flavour-cube products already scheduled across the development roadmap."
Excellent.
The fact that the "office" was Mrs Higgins's spare bedroom was irrelevant.
The fact that "top-tier talent" currently consisted of a raccoon living behind a kebab shop was also irrelevant.
Facts were details.
Narratives were strategy.
The trouble began almost immediately.
Reza had strongly recommended travelling from King's Cross because it sounded more executive.
Mrs Higgins had chosen a different route because she liked looking at cows.
"Look, Reza! Moo-cows!"
She pressed her nose to the window.
Outside, a field of cattle ignored the train with professional dedication.
Reza barely glanced up.
He was busy evaluating Cambridge from a strategic perspective.
His previous expedition beyond London — the Oxford incident — had left lasting scars on his professional confidence.
He had expected arrogant intellectuals.
Instead he had encountered cats so aggressively polite that they had offered him salmon treats and asked whether he would like to collaborate on research into the socio-economic implications of laser pointers.
It had been deeply unsettling.
Cambridge, he decided, would surely be different.
Cambridge was Silicon Fen.
Cambridge was technology.
Cambridge was disruption.
Surely somebody there would be willing to have a proper argument.
The trouble really began on the River Cam.
Tabitha, Mrs Higgins's grand-niece and a drama student whose clipboard appeared to be permanently attached to her hand, had insisted they go punting before opening night of her latest theatre production.
Reza stood proudly at the very front of the punt.
He looked less like a pet and more like a small furry gargoyle conducting a performance review of the university.
Occasionally he adjusted his posture whenever passing ducks appeared.
One never knew who might be observing.
"Oh, look at my brave little silly sausage!" Mrs Higgins said happily.
Reza winced.
Silly sausage remained one of the worst branding decisions in modern history.
Then he saw him.
A sleek silver-tabby cat wearing a tiny tweed collar strolled along the bridge ahead.
At last.
Competition.
Reza prepared a devastating expression of Catford superiority.
The silver-tabby glanced down.
"Oh, hello there", he said pleasantly. "Outstanding posture. Are you looking for seed funding? We're currently developing a mouse-tracking application and could use someone with your leadership profile."
Reza froze.
Another one.
Another polite one.
Was there nobody in Cambridge willing to challenge him for a chicken wing?
In his confusion, he took one step too far sideways.
At exactly the same moment, the student steering the punt became distracted by Tabitha explaining an extremely important artistic decision involving Oscar Wilde and baked goods.
The punt lurched.
The laws of physics, which Reza normally regarded as reliable business partners, abruptly terminated its contract.
Liquidity crisis.
Splash.
The River Cam was precisely fourteen degrees Celsius, tasted faintly of ancient textbooks, and did absolutely nothing for Reza's professional dignity.
By the time they arrived at the theatre, Reza had been vigorously dried with a tea towel featuring a slightly faded portrait of Queen Elizabeth II. He smelled strongly of river water, damp fur, and unapproved merchandising.
As the performance began, Reza watched carefully.
One character appeared to be represented by a bicycle wheel.
Another seemed to be a stack of cardboard boxes.
The audience applauded enthusiastically.
Mrs Higgins applauded enthusiastically and entirely out of rhythm.
Reza looked at his damp paws.
Then he quietly reopened his mental LinkedIn profile.
After a few moments of careful editing, the entry now read:
"Conducted comprehensive due-diligence review of Cambridge expansion opportunity. Following extensive market analysis, elected not to proceed."
Much better.
Cambridge, he concluded, was simply not a suitable environment.
The talent was impressive.
The revenue projections were promising.
But everybody wanted to optimise things.
Nobody wanted to argue.
Nobody wanted to defend a half-eaten sausage.
Nobody wanted to compete properly for ownership of a sunny wall.
Catford, on the other paw, remained a uniquely challenging management environment.
Under the giant fibreglass cat of Catford Broadway, Mrs Higgins continued to generate unpredictable operational scenarios on an almost daily basis.
The branch still required visionary leadership.
As the audience erupted into applause, Reza curled into a tight ball of brown-and-black fur and purred softly.
The Cambridge expansion had been a success.
After all, it had confirmed that Catford was still the correct headquarters for Shadey Operations.
Tomorrow they would return home.
Back to the office.
Back to the pigeons.
Back to the stakeholders.
Back to where the sausages weren't silly — they were strategic.
Night night. Sleep tight.