Story 38: Reza da Vinci's Laundry Masterpiece
One sunny afternoon, Mrs Higgins came home beaming. She was carrying a small, rather wobbly painting, full of bright splodges and what looked like a wibbly-wobbly sausage dog wearing a tutu.
"Look, Reza", she cooed, holding it up. "Isn't it charming? My little niece painted it all by herself!" She proudly hung it on the kitchen wall.
Reza Shadey, who was in the middle of a very important nap (dreaming of becoming Emperor of All Biscuits), opened one magnificent green eye. He surveyed the painting with utter disdain.
"Charming? That?" he sniffed, his tail twitching. "This is a complete failure of artistic identity", he sniffed. "Humans have absolutely no taste!"
An idea, far grander than a squirrel in sunglasses, began to sparkle in his brilliantly devious mind.
"Clearly, I, Reza Shadey, am a misunderstood artistic genius! A true visionary! Move over Paw-casso, Vincent van Meow... Reza da Vinci has arrived!"
He remembered his brief stint as Reza the Grand Wizzard — that hadn't quite worked out. And his 'Limp of Deception' for extra treats? A temporary success. But this... this was his true calling.
Art.
He would create a masterpiece that would make the world gasp... and possibly earn him a few extra dreamies.
"Right!" he declared to a passing ladybird (who wisely scurried away). "I shall require materials!"
He slunk into the garden, his mind a whirlwind of artistic fervour.
For texture, what better than a dollop of lovely, thick mud from Mrs Higgins's prize-winning petunia bed? Splish! For bold, vibrant colours, the juice from those squishy red berries on the bush would be perfect! Squish, squash! And for a shimmering, ethereal effect? Ah, the golden pollen from the lilies! Poof!
His canvas?
Only the finest, most pristine material would do. And there it was, billowing gently in the breeze: Mrs Higgins's freshly laundered, dazzlingly white sheets — fluffier than a cloud eating marshmallows — hanging neatly on the washing line.
"Sublime",Reza purred, his eyes gleaming. "A truly inspired choice... a perfect canvas for a Shadey original."
With a flick of his muddy paws, a dab of his berry-stained nose, and a delicate sprinkle of pollen from his whiskers, Reza Shadey began his magnum opus.
He swirled, he pounced, he rolled!
He did a triple somersault and accidentally headbutted a sock!
It was an explosion of artistic expression! A symphony of splatters! In his mind, it was breathtaking — a mural of unparalleled genius.
Just then, Penelope, Ginger Tom and Tiger wandered into the garden. They stopped. They stared. Their whiskers twitched.
Ginger Tom yawned, stretched lazily and glanced at Reza's 'art'.
"Mrow. Looks like someone sneezed a rainbow onto the laundry after rolling in a puddle", he muttered, before settling down for another nap.
Penelope, ever so polite, tilted her head. "Oh, Rezzi", she began delicately, "it's... very... expressive. A good effort, but perhaps abstract art isn't quite your strongest skill?"
Tiger, however, was utterly thrilled.
"Wow! Mud painting! Can I try, Reza? Can I? Can I?" he bounced, excitedly dabbing his paws into a nearby puddle and then onto a clean tea towel. "Look! I'm making a stripy mud monster!"
Reza Shadey's fur bristled with indignation.
"Fools! Philistines! You clearly don't understand great art when you see it!" he huffed. "My genius is wasted on these simpletons!"
Frustrated but undeterred, he decided to host an exhibition.
"Attend, attend!" he yowled, trying to gather the neighbourhood cats (who were mostly interested in chasing butterflies). "You are about to witness the unveiling of a masterpiece! Prepare to be astounded!"
He puffed out his chest like a balloon full of pride, ready to deliver a grand speech about the profound meaning behind his splodges and smears.
But before he could utter his first important word, the back door flew open.
Mrs Higgins stepped into the garden, a basket of pegs in her hand and a hum on her lips. She stopped.
Her eyes widened.
A small squeak escaped her lips... then a louder one... then a very, VERY loud shriek.
"MY LAUNDRY! MY BEAUTIFUL CLEAN SHEETS! REZA SHADEY, YOU LITTLE MONSTER!"
Caught red-pawed (and brown-pawed and berry-juice-pawed), Reza Shadey did the only thing a true artistic genius could do when faced with such shocking lack of appreciation.
He scrambled.
Whoosh!
He dived behind the largest flowerpot he could find, muttering indignantly, "Hmph! Great art is never understood in its time... I'm quite sure even Leonardo da Whisker faced this sort of criticism!"
From his hiding place, he could hear Mrs Higgins sighing — a sound he knew all too well.
It was the sigh that usually meant no extra dreamies for at least a week.
Still, as he curled up in his hiding spot, Reza gave a small, satisfied nod to himself.
"Yes", he murmured. "A bold and daring success."
Night night. Sleep tight.