Story 42: Reza Shadey and the Cat Show Catastrophe
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones.
Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy cat who believed the local pet show was not merely a bit of fun... but a very important occasion at which he would, quite obviously, be recognised for his greatness.
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 unshakeable confidence, that the big, shiny 'Top Cat' trophy already had his name on it.
It was simply a matter of turning up... and being admired.
And so, before long, Reza found himself at the grand Purrington Palace Cat Show, surrounded by polished paws, gleaming coats, and a great deal of admiring chatter from what he could only assume were perfectly pleasant — if somewhat lesser — cats.
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 nearby squawked, "PRETTY POLLY WANTS A CRACKER! AND A CROWN!"
Reza's whiskers drooped like wet spaghetti.
"Oh no, no, NO", he muttered. "A serious rival. She might actually... win! Instead of ME! This is a catastrophe of epic... no historic 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 ones.
First: The Catnip Caper!
Reza "accidentally" (of course, 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 perfectly polished appearance.
But ZOOOOOM!
Before Queenie could even sniff the tantalising scent, Tiger skidded into view.
Tiger, who had an extraordinary talent for finding anything fun before anyone else.
He rolled, he wriggled, he bounced through the catnip like a furry 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 most 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. "Flawless. Absolutely flawless."
But who should come bounding along, chasing a rogue sunbeam?
Ginger Tom!
He pounced onto the ribbons, got his paws tangled, performed 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, assuming this was all part of the event, gave a slightly bewildered bow.
Finally: The Flea Fiasco!
Reza, spotting Penelope looking calm and beautiful, decided she would be most useful to his plan.
He sneakily fluffed up a bit of her fur, sprinkled some tiny dried leaf-bits 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 from her shoulder and purred,
"Don't be ridiculous, Rezzi. It's just a spot of garden fluff."
She then gave Reza a very pointed look — the sort that made it perfectly clear she knew exactly what he had been up to.
It was time for the final parade, where the cats would strut their stuff.
Reza, still entirely convinced of his magnificence, had one last, desperate idea.
A single, fluffy feather.
As Queenie glided past, he flicked it neatly into the air, aiming for her perfectly perky nose.
But just at that moment—
Tiger bounded past.
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 and skidding straight under the refreshment table.
Ginger Tom, still slightly tangled in ribbons, saw Tiger zoom past and began spinning like a furry orange top, trying to follow the action.
Penelope, startled by the commotion, decided the safest place was inside a large ornamental flowerpot.
And the head judge, stepping backwards to avoid a spinning Ginger Tom, slipped on a puddle of spilled water —
— and landed with an enormous SPLOSH! straight into the punch bowl.
Red punch went EVERYWHERE!
And Queenie?
Queenie simply paused, delicately lifted one paw over a stray ribbon, and continued her graceful glide as if flowerpot-diving cats and punch-soaked judges were the most ordinary things in the world.
After the lights stopped flickering, the punch was mopped up, and the judge had dried his trousers (and, to some extent, his dignity), the winners were announced in slightly 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 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", he muttered. "I was clearly the most impressive."
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.
Out rolled a plump, juicy sausage.
It rolled...
...and stopped right by Reza's carrier.
Reza's ears perked up.
His nose twitched.
His green eyes, moments ago narrowed in indignation, now gleamed with a far more interesting idea.
Sniff, sniff...
SAUSAGE.
In an instant, he forgot all about trophies.
He forgot all about Queenie.
He forgot all about cat shows entirely.
With a quick, expert flick of his paw, he snagged the sausage.
"Well", he thought, munching happily, "perhaps not the Top Cat trophy..."
"...but an excellent result all the same."
Mrs Higgins would later point out — quite firmly — that human sausages are not always suitable for distinguished feline tummies, and that proper cat treats are a much wiser choice.
Reza, however, was already considering where the next sausage might be found.
After all, there was always a "next time" for Reza Shadey.
Night night. Sleep tight.