The Adventures of Reza Shadey

Story 170: Reza Shadey and the King's Award

Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones.

Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy Persian cat who discovered that a shiny new accessory can change the way the whole world treats you — though perhaps not for the reasons he imagined.

It was a perfectly peaceful evening in Mrs Higgins's garden. The sun was setting behind the shed in a puddle of apricot light, the blackbirds were singing their sleepy evening songs, and Ginger Tom was draped over the warm patio stones, enjoying what he described as "a well-earned pre-supper nap".

Beneath the shed, however, there was no peace at all.

Dozens of field mice were crammed into their damp underground meeting chamber, squeaking anxiously amongst themselves.

Professor Cheddarton, a rather round mouse who had built his academic career on the study of dropped digestives, banged an acorn firmly against an upturned flowerpot.

"Order! Order! This emergency meeting of the Catford Mouse Council will now come to order", he squeaked, adjusting his tiny collar.

The mice fell silent, their whiskers twitching in the dim light.

Professor Cheddarton sighed heavily, resting his paws on his rather full tummy.

"My fellow mice, we must address the Reza Problem."

A chorus of worried, high-pitched squeaks filled the chamber.

"But he ain't caught any of us in months", observed a scrappy mouse near the back. "He just stares at us and mumbles about 'underperforming assets'."

"That is exactly the point", said Professor Cheddarton. "Yesterday, he trapped a foraging party by the compost bin and forced them to sit through a ninety-minute presentation entitled Disrupting Traditional Cheese Acquisition Through Agile Partnerships."

There were miserable groans all around the room.

"And the day before", squealed another mouse, shuddering at the memory, "he cornered me by the watering can and tried to recruit me as a seed investor for something called 'RezaDash'."

"What's RezaDash?" asked Pip Wellington, a very young and timid mouse.

"Nobody knows", said Professor Cheddarton wearily. "Least of all Reza. But he insisted it would 'revolutionise the crumb-delivery ecosystem', and he demanded three sunflower seeds just to read the prospectus."

From the darkest corner of the chamber, Algernon Squeak, the oldest and wisest mouse in Catford, adjusted his tiny wire-rimmed spectacles.

"The cat is not dangerous", Algernon said, his voice raspy and dry. "He is exhausting."

"Last week", complained another mouse, rubbing his temples, "he asked me to become his Regional Vice-President for Underground Logistics."

"What does that even mean?" asked Pip.

"It means carrying stolen biscuits to his secret stash behind the hydrangeas!"

The chamber erupted into indignant, furious squeaking.

"We cannot continue like this!" cried Professor Cheddarton, banging his acorn again. "The constant networking! The endless buzzwords! The unsolicited mentoring! We need a solution."

Suggestions flew around the chamber like frantic moths.

"We could move to Croydon!"

"We could write a formal letter of complaint to Mrs Higgins!"

"We could pretend to be venture capitalists and fund one of his projects just to keep him busy!"

"No!" cried several mice at once. "He would only demand daily progress meetings!"

At last, little Pip Wellington nervously raised a paw.

"What if..." Pip squeaked, "what if we put a bell on Reza?"

The chamber fell utterly silent.

"A bell?" asked Professor Cheddarton, his whiskers quivering.

"Yes", Pip said, gaining a tiny bit of confidence. "A bell on a ribbon. Then we'd always hear him coming, and we'd have time to hide in the skirting boards before he starts asking us about our 'five-year strategic growth plans'."

The mice stared at one another.

Then the chamber exploded with absolute joy.

"Brilliant!"

"Wonderful!"

"We'll finally hear him coming!"

"Strategic!" squeaked one mouse, who had unfortunately attended three of Reza's seminars.

Algernon Squeak slowly raised a paw, and the chamber quietened down.

"An excellent proposal, young Pip", Algernon said wisely. "Now then... which one of you intends to approach a heavily furred, self-important Persian cat who genuinely believes he and Elon Musk are colleagues, and attach a bell to his neck?"

Silence.

Complete, terrified silence.

No mouse volunteered. Even Pip looked rather less enthusiastic now that the practical details had been mentioned.

At that exact moment, just outside the shed, a pair of magnificent, fluffy ears twitched.

Reza Shadey had been conducting what he called a "stakeholder listening exercise". In truth, he had been eavesdropping through a crack in the floorboards.

He had not heard everything.

But he had heard enough.

"...put a bell on Reza..."

"...wonderful..."

"...strategic!"

Reza gasped, his emerald eyes widening to the size of saucers. His magnificent tail puffed with sheer, unadulterated excitement.

"A bell?" he whispered into the damp evening air.

His brilliant corporate mind raced, connecting dots that absolutely did not exist. A bell. A shiny, ringing medal. An award!

He listened harder, pressing his squishy face against the wood.

"...for Reza..."

Reza placed a paw dramatically upon his chest.

"At last", he breathed.

He gazed upward toward the twilight sky.

"The King's Awards for Enterprise have finally recognised my contribution to British innovation."

He hurried across the garden at once, his paws barely touching the grass.

Ginger Tom was still napping on the fence, dreaming of sausages.

"Thomas!" cried Reza, skidding to a halt.

Tom opened one lazy orange eye.

"What now?"

"History now", Reza declared.

Tom considered this, letting out a long, rumbling yawn.

"Can history wait until after supper? My tummy's doing that hollow thing again."

"No", said Reza, puffing out his chest. "I have been selected for a King's Award."

Tom sat up, nearly falling backwards off the fence.

"You wot?"

"The details remain strictly confidential", said Reza importantly, "but suffice it to say that senior government figures have been consulting extensively with the underground mouse community regarding my leadership."

Tom blinked, thoroughly confused.

"The mice?"

"Grassroots engagement", explained Reza smoothly. "It is very modern. They are conducting a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree performance review, and the results are unanimous. I am to receive a medal."

By the time Penelope arrived from next door, Reza had already convened an emergency board meeting beside Mrs Higgins's rose bushes.

Penelope sat neatly beside the bird bath, wrapping her pristine white tail around her paws.

"Rezzi", she said carefully, employing her usual moral audit, "are you absolutely certain about this? The Palace doesn't usually consult rodents for their honours list."

"Penelope, please", said Reza patiently. "One does not become Britain's foremost entrepreneurial cat without attracting official recognition. It is simply a matter of time."

"You haven't become Britain's foremost entrepreneurial cat", she pointed out gently. "That is merely your own opinion."

"My opinion is the market leader", Reza sniffed.

Tiger arrived at top speed, skidding through a flowerbed and sending soil flying — whoosh! — over Tom's paws.

"Yo! What are the vibes?" Tiger chirped, vibrating with energy.

"The vibes", announced Reza grandly, "are regal."

Tiger's eyes became enormous.

"Bet! Are we doing a coronation? That's high-key elite, no cap!"

"Indeed", said Reza, ignoring the strange youth slang. "I require your immediate assistance preparing for my investiture."

"What's an investiture?" asked Tiger, tilting his head.

"No idea", admitted Tom, shaking dirt off his paw. "But it'll probably involve him making a fool of himself, so it'll definitely be funny."

The following day was unbearable for everyone in the garden.

Reza spent the entire morning rehearsing his acceptance speech from the top of the compost bin, using a garden gnome as a stand-in for the King.

"I accept this award on behalf of all visionary leaders who have dared to challenge legacy snacking models", Reza boomed.

"No", called Penelope from below. "Too long, Rezzi. And nobody knows what a legacy snacking model is."

Reza frowned and tried again.

"I stand before you as a humble servant of innovation..."

Tom snorted so loudly he woke up a nearby pigeon.

"Humble? You? Pull the other one, it's got bells on it!"

"Fine", snapped Reza, his tail lashing. "We will remove the section on humility. It was frankly out of character anyway."

Meanwhile, beneath the shed, the Mouse Council watched the garden through the floorboards in growing alarm.

"Why is he polishing his own ears?" asked Pip Wellington.

"Why is the bouncy kitten trying to make bunting out of dead leaves and crisp packets?" asked Professor Cheddarton.

Algernon Squeak sighed, wiping his tiny spectacles.

"I strongly suspect the cat was eavesdropping and has misunderstood our intentions."

Professor Cheddarton buried his face in his paws.

"How can someone misunderstand a bell? It is a universal symbol for 'warning, large predator approaching'."

Algernon looked thoughtful.

"This is Reza Shadey. I believe misunderstanding reality to suit his own ego is his default operational setting."

That afternoon, while Reza was busy demanding that Tiger build him a red carpet out of perfectly matching autumn leaves, fate intervened.

Moving very quickly and very quietly, Pip Wellington crept into the kitchen and placed a small, shiny brass bell, tied neatly to a piece of blue ribbon, right beside Reza's food bowl. Then Pip scampered away faster than lightning.

Moments later, Mrs Higgins walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

"Reza, look what turned up", Mrs Higgins chuckled.

Reza stopped dead.

His eyes locked onto the shiny brass bell.

"It has arrived", he thought, his heart soaring. "The courier was stealthy. Excellent protocol."

Mrs Higgins smiled.

"Well, if you've gone to all this trouble, I suppose you'd better wear it properly."

Reza's whiskers trembled.

Properly.

Of course. There would be procedures.

He stepped forward and lowered his head regally, allowing Mrs Higgins to tie the blue ribbon gently around his neck.

"Jingle-ling."

Mrs Higgins stepped back and smiled.

"There we are", she said warmly. "That suits you perfectly. You should wear it with pride."

Reza closed his eyes.

"Wear it with pride."

It was official.

"The Palace often favours understatement", he thought. "A deeply British ceremony."

"There now", Mrs Higgins said, scratching him behind the ears. "Don't you look important?"

Important.

Reza very nearly fainted with happiness.

He turned and marched back out through the cat flap.

"Jingle-jingle."

He stepped onto the patio.

"BEHOLD!" Reza announced to the garden, the brass bell gleaming against his dark chest fluff. "It is understated. Very British. True prestige never needs to shout. It merely... chimes."

"Jingle."

The effect on the garden was immediate.

Under the shed, the mice heard the noise and vanished deep into the skirting boards, entirely safe from any future networking events.

"Jingle-jingle."

A flock of sparrows, startled by the sudden metallic ringing, took off from the lawn in a flurry of wings.

"Jingle."

Penelope quietly slid her half-eaten fish treat under a leaf and backed away into the shadows of the lavender bush.

"Jingle-jingle."

Even Ginger Tom climbed onto the highest, most inaccessible branch of the oak tree.

Reza paused in the middle of the lawn, looking around at the completely empty garden.

"Where is everyone going?" he asked the silence.

From high up in the tree, Tom called down, "Nowhere, mate! Just maintaining strategic distance from senior leadership! Gotta respect the medal, right?"

"Ah", Reza nodded slowly, puffing out his chest once more.

"Jingle."

By evening, the Mouse Council reconvened in absolute peace.

Professor Cheddarton smiled broadly.

"Operation Audible Warning has been an overwhelming success. The perimeter is secure. No mice have been mentored all afternoon."

The mice cheered.

Above ground, Reza sat proudly upon Mrs Higgins's favourite garden chair, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. He was completely alone, but he had never felt more important.

"Recognition at this level inevitably creates separation between visionaries and ordinary stakeholders", he murmured wisely to himself. "It is the lonely burden of the crown."

From the shadows, Penelope smiled softly.

"If you say so, Rezzi."

"I do."

"Jingle-jingle."

Somewhere beneath the shed, dozens of mice relaxed for the first time in weeks.

"How long do you think he'll wear it?" whispered Pip.

Algernon adjusted his spectacles.

"With luck", he said, "for the remainder of his distinguished career."

The mice smiled.

Above them, Reza gazed up at the stars.

Tomorrow, he decided, he would launch a podcast entitled Leadership Lessons from Award-Winning Visionaries.

"Jingle-jingle."

Peace in the garden, it seemed, would be short-lived.

"It's very funny when cats wear bells, little ones, because it helps protect the birds and the mice in the garden! But remember, cats should only ever wear special breakaway collars that easily pop open if they get caught on a branch. We never tie ribbons or string around an animal's neck, because we always want our furry friends to be perfectly safe while they play!"

Night night. Sleep tight.