Story 34: Reza Shadey Gets a Royal Shock
It was a bright, breezy morning, and Reza Shadey — who operated under the firm assumption that he was the CEO of the garden (and possibly the entire world) — was sitting on the windowsill.
He was carefully grooming his fluffy fur, smoothing it into perfection so that his personal brand looked, as always, immaculate. Outside, the little birds were simply flapping about in what Reza considered a highly unstructured manner.
"Hmph", thought Reza, giving his tail a slow, dismissive swish. "So noisy. This territory is under my exclusive management."
Creak! Thump!
The door opened, and in came Mrs Higgins, Reza's favourite human (primarily because she controlled the biscuit distribution). But what was that she was carrying?
A shiny gold box!
And on the box, in swirly writing, it said: Her Royal Fluffiness, Queenie!
Reza Shadey's eyes narrowed into thoughtful slits. His whiskers twitched.
"A box? And gold?" he thought. "And who is this 'Queenie' attempting to enter my domain?"
His tail went thump-thump-thump against the windowsill.
"This is Queenie, Reza, my dear",Mrs Higgins chirped, completely missing his expression. "She's staying for a little while as dear Mrs Cartwright-Smythe has gone to Paris. Isn't she just a sweetie-pie?"
She placed the gold box beside the warm fireplace — Reza's second favourite napping spot.
"We'll let her out soon. Be a good boy, Reza. Don't look so... like a grumpy cloud!"
Inside the gold box, Queenie sat perfectly still.
Her fur was bright white, like a soft marshmallow cloud. Her tiny pink nose gave the smallest twitch. Her eyes were closed. She looked as though she was having a very important, very peaceful nap.
"Probably dreaming of being in charge",Reza muttered to himself.
Reza crept closer. Pitter-patter.
He sniffed the box. Sniff, sniff.
Then he gave it a very light tap with his paw.
Tap-tap.
"Well, well", he murmured. "Very fancy packaging. Let us hope there is something worthwhile inside... and not just a very ordinary cat."
He flicked his tail.
"I expect she doesn't even chase string", he added quietly. "Highly suspicious behaviour."
Outside in the garden, Penelope, Ginger Tom, and little Tiger were strolling by. Tiger was attempting to pounce on a tiny floating seed.
Pounce—whoosh—oops!
"Who is the new arrival, Rezzi?" called Penelope, her tail curling like a neat question mark.
Reza puffed out his chest and sat up taller.
"That", he announced, with a grand wave of his paw (wobbling only slightly), "is 'Queenie'. A travelling fluff-ball in a gold box. Clearly under the impression she is extremely important. I imagine she requires sparkling water and believes the garden gnomes exist purely for her comfort."
"Ooh, she looks very quiet", said Ginger Tom, peering in.
"She looks super posh!" said Tiger, eyes wide. "Do you think she has a tiny crown?"
Reza rolled his eyes.
"Posh? She is simply a fluffy doorstop. Probably afraid of dust and deeply confused by mud."
But then...
Click!
The gold box door opened.
Mrs Higgins was back, making gentle, happy cooing sounds.
Out stepped Queenie.
She didn't walk.
She glided.
Like a cloud drifting across a warm beam of sunlight. Her white fur shimmered. Her tiny pink nose tilted ever so slightly upward, as if the air itself needed improving.
She looked at Reza.
Just one calm, quiet look that seemed to say, Hmm. You are... here.
Then, in a soft, perfectly measured voice, she said:
"Oh, darling. Could you be an absolute treasure and fluff my cushion? It's a little... flat from the journey. And one simply cannot relax on a flat cushion, can one? Try to fluff it round and round, like this... gently."
Reza blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His mouth made a small O.
"My... what now?" he said.
"My cushion",Queenie repeated, with the tiniest sigh. "Fluff it. Nicely. Round and round. A royal cat requires proper comfort."
And oh dear, sleepyheads... that was only the beginning of Reza's royal shock.
By lunchtime, Queenie had settled on the very best cushion in the room — Reza's favourite cushion, the one shaped perfectly to him after many dedicated naps.
She had also declared the tuna "perfectly acceptable... for now."
When Mrs Higgins tried to play with the feather toy, Queenie gently instructed:
"Slowly, please. Like a soft breeze... not like a startled chicken. More... graceful."
Mrs Higgins even did a little twirl with the feather!
Reza stared in disbelief.
His perfectly organised world was beginning to wobble.
He decided it was time to take action.
First, he pretended she simply wasn't there.
Queenie remained exactly where she was.
"Fresh water, please", she said calmly. "Not bubbly. Just still. And do make sure the bowl is clean. I see a speck."
Next, Reza placed himself directly in front of the sunbeam, becoming a large, fluffy barrier.
Queenie stepped neatly over his tail.
As if it were a small rug.
She paused, glanced down, and added, "That could do with a brush."
Finally, Reza performed a tremendously loud, very dramatic yawn directly in her face.
Queenie opened one eye.
Looked at him.
Closed it again.
And went straight back to sleep.
When Penelope peeked over the fence, she smiled.
"So, Rezzi... how is the royal visitor?"
Reza let out a low, rumbling sigh.
"She is not a guest, Penelope. She is a fluffy tyrant. A white, cushion-stealing commander. She called me 'my dear boy' and asked me to move a biscuit because her paws were 'a little tired'."
He puffed up indignantly.
"Me. Reza Shadey. Biscuit assistant."
Ginger Tom snorted.
"Sounds familiar, mate."
Later that night, the room was quiet.
Very quiet.
Reza and Queenie both approached the cushion at exactly the same time.
They stopped.
Noses almost touching.
Whiskers trembling.
Eyes locked.
Neither moved.
Not even a tiny bit.
Time stretched.
Longer.
Longer still.
Until, at last, Queenie spoke.
"You do fluff it rather well", she said softly. "For a... perfectly ordinary cat with surprisingly capable paws."
Reza blinked.
Then gave a small, careful smirk.
"And you are not entirely impossible", he replied, "for a bossy, cushion-stealing fluff-ball with a rather large opinion of herself."
They sat down.
Back to back.
Very straight.
Not touching.
Definitely not talking.
But perhaps...
Just perhaps...
Sharing a small, warm corner of the cushion.
"Well", thought Reza quietly, "her choice of cushion is acceptable. Almost as good as mine. Almost."
The next morning, Queenie and her gold box were gone.
Just like that.
The house felt normal again.
Quiet.
Just a little too quiet.
Reza walked over to his cushion.
He stopped.
Then, very carefully, when no one was watching, he gave the edge a small flick with his paw.
Round and round.
Just to check.
"Hmph", he murmured. "Adequate."
And with that, he curled up for a long, peaceful, completely uninterrupted nap.
Because a CEO, after all, needs his rest.
Night night. Sleep tight.