Story 62: Reza Shadey and the Cat Psychologist
Reza Shadey, the grandest, fluffiest, most magnificently bossy Persian cat in the whole wide world, was having... a tantrum. Not just any tantrum. Oh no. This was a Mrs-Higgins-had-hidden-the-extra-sardines-and-Reza-had-declared-a-mouse-strike-in-protest kind of tantrum. The worst kind.
"Honestly, Mrs Higgins!" Reza yowled, draped across the kitchen counter like a furry opera singer mid-song. "The indignity! How can I supervise this house without proper fuel?" He flicked his tail, nearly sending her favourite teacup flying. "Oops! Must be more dramatic next time — without the smashy bits. Smashing is for Thursdays", he thought.
Mrs Higgins, who knew all about Reza's big performances, sighed. "Reza, darling, you had salmon for breakfast. And that sneaky chicken leg you fished out from under the sofa."
"Not enough!" Reza huffed, puffing up his ruff until he looked like a cross fluffy dandelion. "My genius needs sardines! My plotting, my napping, my job of being utterly splendid — it's exhausting!" He flopped onto his side with a sigh so big his whiskers wobbled. "I might faint from hunger. Or boredom. Probably both!"
That's when Mrs Higgins, holding a bright leaflet, made a decision. "Reza", she said with a twinkle, "I've booked you an appointment."
Reza's emerald eyes narrowed. "An appointment? With whom? The Sardine King? The Royal Fluff-Stroker?"
"A cat psychologist, dear. Dr Felicity Whiskerton. She's brilliant", Mrs Higgins said cheerily.
Reza scoffed so hard a puff of fluff shot from his nose like a tiny, cross cloud. "A psychologist? For ME?" He stood tall, fluffier than ever. "Mrs Higgins, my brain is a palace of perfect ideas! I'm the cleverest cat alive! Maybe this Dr Whiskerton needs MY help!"
But Mrs Higgins was firm. "Ten o'clock. You're going."
So, off they went in a special carrier — which Reza grumbled was "far too boring for a cat like me! Where's the velvet? The sparkles?" — to "Paw-sitive Pathways: Feline Therapy."
The waiting room was dull as dishwater. A scratching post in one corner, a fish tank bubbling in another. Reza sniffed. "Rubbish!" he muttered. "No throne? No velvet cushions? How am I meant to rule from here?" He glared at the fish tank. "And those fish look suspiciously cheerful. I don't trust them."
Then, out came Dr Felicity Whiskerton, a sleek Siamese with clever blue eyes and a tiny badge on her collar. "Reza Shadey?" she purred, calm as a puddle. "Come in, please."
Reza strutted into her office, spotting a soft chaise longue. "Do I just lie on this?" he asked, imagining a mountain of sardines appearing by magic.
Dr Whiskerton blinked slowly. "It works best if you tell the truth."
Reza froze. The truth? He was always truthful! Truthfully fabulous, truthfully clever, truthfully the king of all cats! He hopped onto the chaise longue with a grand sigh. "Fine, Doctor", he began. "My problem is... Mrs Higgins is hopeless without me. Yesterday, she tried sorting her socks — SOCKS! — without consulting me!" He shook his head. "Everyone knows socks must be sorted by smell! Left socks here, right socks there, and the fuzzy ones I've napped on go in a special heap of honour!"
Dr Whiskerton tilted her head. "How did that make you feel, Reza?"
"Frustrated!" Reza yowled, pacing the chaise longue like a tiny general. "Frustrated by her silliness! The house would fall apart without my expert management!"
Dr Whiskerton scribbled a note. "And are these... organisational failures common?"
"All the time!" Reza cried. "This morning, a squirrel dared to sit on MY lawn! I launched a super-secret chase — silent as a shadow, fast as a rocket!" He paused, puffing up his chest. "But did Mrs Higgins cheer? No! She just said, 'Get out of the rose bush, you daft cat!'"
"So, you feel unappreciated?" Dr Whiskerton asked, her whisker twitching.
"Exactly!" Reza thumped his tail. "And the sardines! How can a genius like me function on mere biscuits and a bit of salmon?" He flopped onto his back. "It's a scandal! I'm writing to the World Sardine Council! If they don't reply, I'll start a protest — with placards! 'Sardines now! Sardines forever!'"
"And what do you want from this letter?" Dr Whiskerton asked, still calm.
"Sardine mountains!" Reza roared, leaping up. "And if they're clever, they'll make me the Emperor of All Fish!"
Dr Whiskerton wrote more notes. "Sometimes, big plans can be a way of seeking control."
Reza laughed so loud his belly jiggled. "Control? Doctor, I AM control! I'm the boss, the star, the whole show!" He squinted at her. "In fact, I think YOU need my help. Your patients seem awfully quiet. None as splendid as me, I bet!"
Dr Whiskerton smiled thinly. "Not quite, Reza."
"Good!" Reza said, missing her point entirely. "I shall help you! I'll teach them how to be proper cats!" He started lecturing her on sunbathing ("precisely 37 degrees for perfect tummy warmth and snack-spotting"), meowing ("seventeen types, including the 'I-am-magnificent-and-require-a-treat' yowl"), and cushion fluffing ("two paws, round and round, with flair!").
At last, Dr Whiskerton stood. "Time's up, Reza."
Reza hopped down, chest puffed out. "I hope you learned something, Doctor. I was quite dazzling, wasn't I?"
Mrs Higgins waited outside. "How was it, dear?"
"Brilliant!" Reza stretched and purred... "I taught her everything! She was stunned by my cleverness. Next time, I shall demonstrate how to catch mice properly — she's got a lot to learn!"
Mrs Higgins smiled and scooped him up. Back in her office, Dr Whiskerton looked at her notes — mostly doodles of a very cross cat wearing a crown — and added, "Note to self: need stronger catnip for the next session."
Reza napped in his sunspot that afternoon, dreaming of a grand parade in his honor, followed by an endless supply of sardines – all orchestrated, of course, by his devoted human.
Mrs Higgins looked at him and just smiled, knowing some battles were best left unfought, especially with a cat as splendidly stubborn as Reza... some cats never change!
Night night. Sleep tight.