Story 51: Reza Shadey and the Accidental Royal Invitation
One fateful morning, a letter arrived for Mrs Higgins. It was sealed with wax and stitched with shimmering gold thread. It was an invitation to the Royal Palace Gardens Tour, a very posh event where a few lucky people could admire the King's prize-winning begonias.
Reza Shadey, lounging magnificently on the windowsill, sniffed the envelope with deep and profound suspicion. "Gold thread", he mused, his green eyes narrowing. "Wherever there is gold, there are secrets. And wherever there are secrets, there are, most probably, sardines. It is simple cat logic." There was, therefore, only one possible course of action. He had to sneak into Mrs Higgins's handbag and go along for the ride.
Inside the handbag, nestled between a tube of hand cream and a forgotten mint, Reza endured the world's longest, most boring lecture on hydrangea care as Mrs Higgins chatted excitedly with other flower lovers on the bus. But as soon as the grand palace gates swung open, revealing a magnificent fountain, Reza's heart skipped a beat. "The Royal Sardine Fountain!" he gasped to himself. With a heroic leap, he launched himself out of the handbag and into the royal gardens.
And that's when the Queen's own cat, a fluffy, pompous creature named Lord Whiskerton, laid eyes on him. Lord Whiskerton, who was used to being the most important cat in the kingdom, gasped so dramatically he almost coughed up a hairball. "My fishy goodness!" he exclaimed. "That magnificent fur! That regal poise! That breathtaking air of self-importance! He must be... a lost Persian noble!"
Before Reza could correct this wonderful misunderstanding (or, more accurately, work out how to use it to his advantage), the palace staff, alerted by Lord Whiskerton's fuss, whisked him away. He was taken for a personal meeting with the King himself.
Minutes later, Reza, now reclining on an exquisite velvet cushion, was informed that he would be introduced at court as "Count Sardinepaws, the Duke of Supreme Fanciness." He nodded solemnly, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. The title sounded about right. "Perhaps a little understated", he thought, "but it will do for now."
Now officially part of royal society, Reza immediately set his grand plan into motion. First, he would persuade the King that sardines, being far more delicious and versatile, should immediately replace gold as the national currency. Next, he would convince the nobles that only those with great sardine wealth should be considered truly influential. And finally, and most importantly, he would secure personal, unrestricted access to the palace's secret sardine reserve. Obviously.
Unfortunately, his flawless scheme had one tiny, greasy flaw. The Queen, who had very sharp eyes, noticed his fur glistening rather suspiciously under the palace chandeliers. "My dear Count Sardinepaws", she enquired gently, "why do you shine so... fishily?"
Reza paused. His mind raced. "It must be my natural radiance", he thought. But then he remembered the sneaky snack he'd had before leaving the house. It was the sardine grease. His pre-adventure snack had betrayed him!
The King, hearing this, realised that "Count Sardinepaws" might not actually be a real count. He demanded an explanation. And so, Reza Shadey — who refused to be caught in any scandal not of his own making — did the only logical and sensible thing. With a tremendous SPLOOSH! he launched himself headfirst into the Royal Sardine Fountain! He scrambled out the other side holding four sardines in his mouth, scampered across the royal lawn, and vaulted over the palace fence with the grace of a furry cannonball.
Dripping but triumphant, Reza located Mrs Higgins's tour group just as they were boarding the bus home. With the stolen sardines clutched firmly in his mouth, he performed a silent, sneaky leap back into her open handbag, landing softly on her spare cardigan.
Mrs Higgins returned home, none the wiser, though slightly puzzled by the faint smell of fish and pond water coming from her bag. As for Reza? He considered the day a stunning strategic victory. He had infiltrated the highest level of society, acquired four large sardines, and escaped with his dignity (mostly) intact. "A minor setback", he purred to himself, already planning his next adventure. "Next time, I'll need a better title. And perhaps a napkin."
Night night. Sleep tight.