Story 53: Reza Shadey and the Midnight Orchestra
One night, when the moon was a glowing wheel of cheese in the sky, Reza Shadey was on patrol. Mrs Higgins was tucked up in bed, and the house was quiet. Very, very quiet. Too quiet for a cat of his importance.
He leapt onto the kitchen counter with a silent fluff of his paws. His whiskers twitched, searching for adventure. His tail gave a little flick and — TING! It had knocked a spoon right into a big metal mixing bowl.
Reza froze, his big green eyes wide. He poked the spoon with his paw. DONG! A wonderful, ringing sound filled the kitchen. He did it again, a bit harder. TING-a-ling-DONG! "Ooh! What a glorious noise!" he thought, puffing out his chest. "I am not just a handsome cat. I am a musical genius!"
Fired up with inspiration, he padded over to the radiator and gave it a firm thwack. CLONG! The pipes shuddered and rattled. "Excellent! The percussion section!" He then hopped onto the sideboard and delicately tapped a row of drinking glasses with his claw. Tinkle-tink-TINK! It sounded like tiny, magical bells.
That was it! In a flash of furry brilliance, Reza Shadey had a grand plan. "I shall form a Midnight Orchestra!" he announced to the empty room. "And naturally, I shall be the conductor, the composer and the star performer!"
He shot out through the cat flap and zipped around the garden to recruit his musicians. He found Penelope curled in a flowerpot. "Wakey-wakey! We have music to make!" She blinked her sleepy eyes. He woke Ginger Tom, who let out a huge yawn. Tiger was already awake, chasing a moth. "Music?" he bounced. "Is it noisy music? I like noisy!"
Reza led his sleepy orchestra back into the kitchen and assigned their parts with a wave of his tail. "Penelope, my dear, you are on the doormat. Give it a good, rhythmic scratch. SCRITCH-scratch-SCRITCH!" "Tom, you are in charge of the cymbals." He pointed to two shiny pot lids. "Tiger, you have a very special job. You must shred this newspaper with great passion!"
Reza leapt back onto the counter, ready for his solo. "A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four!"
SCRITCH-SCRATCH-SCRITCH! went Penelope on the doormat. CLANG-A-BASH-CLANG! went Ginger Tom with the pot lids. RIIIIIP-RUSTLE-SHRED! went Tiger, sending bits of paper flying like confetti. And above it all, Reza played his magnificent glass-and-bowl symphony, adding a proud and wobbly howl. "Meeeee-YOOOOOW-la-laaaaa!"
The noise was glorious! Well, it was to the cats. Upstairs, Mrs Higgins groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. It sounded like a giant was trying to build a tin shed while a flock of seagulls sang along.
"Bravo! Encore!" cried Reza Shadey, getting carried away and knocking a whole saucepan off the side for a dramatic finish. CLATTER-BANG-WALLOP!
But then... a new sound. TAP-TAP-TAP!
A face appeared at the kitchen window. It was the dog from next door, wearing stripy pyjamas and a floppy nightcap. The window was a bit open. "I say!" he barked, in a very serious voice. "Would you mind awfully? Some of us are trying to dream about chasing squirrels!"
The music stopped. Penelope looked at her paws as if she'd never seen them before. Ginger Tom hid behind the recycling bin. Tiger looked up, a piece of soggy, chewed-up newspaper stuck to his nose.
Reza sighed, a long, dramatic sigh. "Hmph. The public are not ready for my genius", he declared. "The concert is over. For now."
Just then, the kitchen light flicked on. Mrs Higgins stood there in her slippers, blinking at the mess. Pots and pans on the floor, paper everywhere, and four cats trying very hard to look innocent. She put her hands on her hips. "Reza Shadey", she sighed. "What on earth has been going on?"
Reza padded over, rubbed against her legs and gave his deepest, rumbling purr. "It was a cultural masterpiece", he purred. "You just missed it."
Then he trotted to his fluffy bed, curled into a ball, and yawned. The perfect end to a perfect performance. "Tomorrow", he dreamed, "perhaps a ballet? But with more snacks."
Night night. Sleep tight.