The Adventures of Reza Shadey

Story 42: Reza Shadey and the Cat Show Catastrophe

Reza Shadey was certain — absolutely, completely certain — that he was the most marvellous cat in the entire world. His fur? Fluffier than a marshmallow cloud dipped in moonlight. His whiskers? So sharp, they could probably slice a sausage without even trying (he'd often thought about testing this). His tail? A magnificent, swishy, swooshy masterpiece of feline engineering!

So, when Mrs Higgins chirped, "Oh, Reza, darling! There's an invitation to the grand Purrington Palace Cat Show! All the finest cats in the neighbourhood are invited!" Reza knew, with the unshakeable confidence only he possessed, that the big, shiny "Top Cat" trophy already had his name engraved on it. Obviously.

But then... he saw her.

Queenie. The very same Queenie who had once invaded his royal cushion. She was posh. She was perfect. Her fur was so immaculate, it looked like it had been individually polished by a team of dedicated fluff-fairies. She didn't even blink when a particularly loud parrot in a nearby cage squawked, "PRETTY POLLY WANTS A CRACKER! AND A CROWN!"

Reza's whiskers drooped like wet spaghetti. "Oh no, no, NO!" "She might actually... win! Instead of ME! This is a catastrophe of epic proportions!" His magnificent brain, usually busy planning biscuit heists or supervising garden "improvements", whirred into action. A plan was needed. A cunning, brilliant, Reza-tastic plan! Or, as it turned out, three rather silly, Reza-tastic plans.

First, the Catnip Caper! Reza "accidentally" (of course, it was entirely accidental, ahem) knocked over a giant bag of super-strong catnip right near Queenie's perfectly powdered paws. He waited for her to roll around like a loopy noodle and ruin her pristine fur.

But ZOOOOOM! Before Queenie could even sniff the tantalising scent, Tiger, who had the nose of a bloodhound for anything fun, skidded into view. He rolled, he wriggled, he bounced through the catnip like a furry brown-and-black rocket and with a final ACHOO! so mighty it ruffled the toupee of a nearby gentleman, he launched himself headfirst into the biscuit basket on the judges' table! CRUNCH! SCATTER! One judge, looking startled, ended up with a custard cream stuck to his spectacles.

Next, the Ribbon Ruse! Reza, with the stealth of a fluffy ninja, laid a trail of sparkly, slippery ribbons right across Queenie's path to the judging podium. "She'll trip, she'll tumble, she'll look like a tangled teacake!" he snickered to himself.

But who should come bounding along, chasing a rogue sunbeam? Ginger Tom! He pounced right onto the ribbons, got his paws tangled, did a spectacular somersault and ended up wrapped like a very confused, very orange birthday present. TWIRL! FLOP! TANGLE! "Oh, how delightfully whimsical! What an avant-garde statement!" cooed a lady with a hat shaped like a pineapple. The crowd clapped! Ginger Tom, thinking this was all part of the show, gave a bewildered bow.

Finally, the Flea Fiasco! Reza, seeing Penelope looking calm and beautiful, decided to use her. He sneakily fluffed up a bit of her fur, sprinkled some tiny bits of dried leaf he'd saved from the garden and then gasped dramatically, pointing a quivering paw. "FLEAS! HORRENDOUS FLEAS! ON POOR PENELOPE! SAVE YOURSELVES!"

The crowd gasped! Judges grabbed their clipboards defensively! But Penelope, with the elegance of a true princess, simply blinked, calmly licked the offending leaf-bits off her shoulder and purred, "It's just a spot of garden fluff, you silly sausages." She then gave Reza a very pointed look that said, "I know what you're up to, you cheeky rascal."

It was time for the final parade, where the cats would strut their stuff. Reza, still convinced he was the most magnificent, had one last, desperate trick up his... well, he didn't have sleeves, but he had a plan. A single, fluffy feather. As Queenie glided past, he flicked it expertly into the air, aiming for her perfectly perky nose.

But just at that moment, Tiger bounded past and the feather tickled his nose instead! AAAAACHOOOOOO! Tiger sneezed with the force of a small hurricane, launching himself like a stripy cannonball across the polished floor, skidding right under the refreshment table. Ginger Tom, still slightly tangled in ribbons, saw Tiger zoom past and started spinning like a furry orange top, trying to see what was happening. Penelope, startled by the sudden commotion, decided the safest place was inside a large, ornamental flowerpot. And the head judge, startled by a spinning Ginger Tom, stepped backwards, slipped on a puddle of spilled water (from where Tiger had knocked over a vase earlier) and landed with an enormous SPLOSH! right into the punch bowl! Red punch went EVERYWHERE!

And Queenie? Queenie simply paused, delicately lifted one paw over a stray ribbon and continued her regal glide as if flowerpot-diving cats and punch-soaked judges were the most normal things in the world.

After the lights stopped flickering, the punch was mopped up and the judge had dried his trousers (and his dignity), the winners were announced with rather shaky voices:

"To Queenie: The Golden Whiskers Trophy for 'Best Poise in the Midst of Utter Cat-tastrophe'!"

"To Tiger: A lifetime supply of tissues for 'Fastest Sneeze on Four Paws'!"

"To Ginger Tom: A special rosette for 'Most Enthusiastically Ribboned Rascal'!"

"And finally... to Reza Shadey: The Bent Spoon Award for 'Most Dramatic and Utterly Unnecessary Troublemaker'!"

Mrs Higgins sighed, a sound that Reza knew meant "Oh, Reza, what am I going to do with you?" but also, secretly, "Well, at least it wasn't boring."

Reza huffed. He pouted. His magnificent tail drooped like a wilted lettuce. He flopped into his carrier with a grumpy GRUMBLE-MUMBLE-FLUMP! "This is an outrage! I was robbed!"

But just then... Mrs Cartwright-Smythe, flustered by all the commotion and trying to soothe a perfectly composed (though perhaps slightly punch-splashed) Queenie, accidentally fumbled her handbag and out rolled a plump, juicy sausage. It rolled... and stopped right by Reza's carrier.

Reza's ears, previously flattened in fury, perked up like radar dishes. His nose twitched. His green eyes, moments ago narrowed in indignation, now gleamed with a new, much more interesting, focus. Sniff, sniff... SAUSAGE! He forgot all about trophies. He forgot all about Queenie. He forgot all about cat shows and disastrous plans. With a flick of his paw, he snagged the sausage.

"Well", he thought, munching happily, "perhaps not the Top Cat trophy. But Top Sausage Snatcher? Definitely a winner." And he was already plotting how to get more sausages next time. After all, there was always a "next time" for Reza Shadey.

Night night. Sleep tight.