Story 194: Reza Shadey and the Very British Problem
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a cheeky, magnificently fluffy cat who discovered that the humans of Britain had a serious problem... and decided that only he, naturally, could fix it."
It began on a damp Tuesday afternoon in Catford. Mrs Higgins was in the kitchen taking out the recycling when she bumped her knee against the wheelie bin.
"Ow!" she cried while rubbing her knee... "I'm so sorry", as if the bin had feelings.
Reza Shadey, Chief Executive Officer of Shadey Operations, was perched on the windowsill with one elegant paw draped over the edge. His emerald eyes narrowed as the radio crackled in the background: "...classic Very British Problems. Apologising to furniture..."
Reza's whiskers twitched.
"A systemic communication failure", he murmured. "Nationwide. Untreated. An opportunity."
He slipped through the cat flap to assemble the Board in the garden: Penelope, washing one white paw; Ginger Tom, lounging on the fence; and Tiger, zooming around the lawn in chaotic circles.
Reza leapt onto an upturned flowerpot.
"Team! The humans of Britain are suffering from systemic politeness inefficiency."
Penelope sighed. "Rezzi, that's just how people are."
"Which means the problem has been completely ignored", Reza replied, pointing a paw towards the wheelie bin. "Phase One: the Apology Reflex. I shall demonstrate proper dominance."
"You're going to have a fight with a wheelie bin, aren't you?" Ginger Tom snorted.
"Bro is beefing with the bin", Tiger whispered.
Reza marched to the patio, wiggled his bottom, and launched himself at the bin. But the plastic lid was wet from the drizzle. His back paws slipped with a loud "Screeech!", the bin wobbled, and gravity took over.
"Flump!"
Reza landed backwards in Mrs Higgins's newly mulched flowerbed with a soggy autumn leaf stuck to his nose.
Mrs Higgins hurried over and scooped him into her arms. "Oh, Reza! Are you all right, darling? Did that big bad bin get in your way? I'm so sorry", she added. "Naughty bin."
Reza stared. She had apologised to him on behalf of the bin. Britain was in serious trouble.
Back inside, settled on his velvet doughnut bed, Reza licked clean a small plate of salmon pâté while the Board watched through the patio door.
"Today's operation has generated excellent public awareness", Reza announced through the glass.
"You fell in the dirt and got free fish", Ginger Tom muttered.
"All part of the plan", Reza declared, curling into a circle. "Phase Two requires further research."
Three days later, on Saturday morning, Reza was back in business, targeting Catford High Street. Every Saturday, humans formed an orderly queue outside Bakewell & Sons for fresh bread, but British politeness trapped them in an endless loop: "You go ahead!" "Oh no, after you!" Nobody moved.
"A national bottleneck", Reza told the Board from atop a postbox. "I shall demonstrate what happens when bread moves efficiently."
He slipped around to the bakery's open back door, where the air smelled of warm butter and fresh loaves. Spotting a wire rack loaded with cooling bread beside a delivery trolley, Reza gave a large crusty cob a magnificent nudge. It rolled off the rack and landed in the empty delivery trolley.
"Phase Two is operational."
Unfortunately, the trolley was parked on a slight slope. It began to roll towards the High Street.
"Stop", Reza trotted after it. "Stop!"
Outside, the trolley picked up speed, heading directly towards the queue.
"Excuse me!" "Sorry!" "Oh, terribly sorry!" humans shouted, stepping back and apologising to each other as the trolley whizzed past.
Reza sprinted alongside, trying to steer it with both front paws. Ahead lay a display of prize dahlias outside the flower shop.
With a desperate leap, Reza launched himself at the front wheel. The trolley jolted, tipped sideways onto the grass verge, and the crusty cob flew through the air in a magnificent golden arc.
It landed with a soft plop directly in the arms of an elderly gentleman at the very front of the queue.
He stared at the loaf, then laughed. "Well! Looks like it's mine, then. Sorted!"
The queue burst into laughter, the spell broke, and people began buying bread briskly.
Reza lay in the grass, covered in crumbs, with a dahlia petal stuck to his ear.
"You started a bread avalanche", Ginger Tom said, trotting over.
"I resolved a queue", Reza corrected. "Structural realignment."
The baker's son ran out, laughing. "You mad little thing. Come on, hero, you've earned a bun."
That evening, back home, Reza sat proudly on his velvet bed, enjoying a warm sausage roll.
"Today", he announced to the Board, "Shadey Operations achieved a full-scale supply chain optimisation."
"You knocked bread into an old man", Ginger Tom noted.
"Dynamic distribution."
"You fell in the dahlias."
"A calculated landing."
Penelope smiled. "Rezzi, the people solved the queue themselves."
Reza nodded gravely. "Precisely. True leadership is creating an environment in which others believe they have solved the problem."
"That's kinda deep", Tiger said, impressed.
Reza closed his eyes, dreaming of future operations.
Mrs Higgins came quietly into the room and tucked a little blanket around him. "Night night, you silly sausage."
"Strategic sausage", Reza murmured.
Mrs Higgins gave him a little stroke.
"And no more jumping on wheelie bins or chasing trolleys, young man. They're dangerous."
"Understood", murmured Reza.
He paused.
"For less strategically minded cats."
Night night. Sleep tight.