Story 71: Reza Shadey and the Sneezing Scapegoat
The doorbell rang with a shrillness that vibrated through Reza Shadey's magnificent fur and disturbed his mid-morning nap. This was not the cheerful chime of the postman, who sometimes brought packages containing items for Reza. Oh no. This was an impatient, jarring sound, a sort of "BRRRRING-BRRRRIIING!" that demanded attention, rather than politely requesting it. Trouble, Reza decided, had arrived with an alarming lack of subtlety.
And trouble, it turned out, was Mrs Higgins' Aunt Mildred. She was a woman who moved as if the world were a slightly dirty surface she was reluctant to touch. Her tweed suit seemed to crackle with disapproval, and her sensible shoes tapped a rhythm of discontent as she surveyed the hallway, her nose twitching with an alarming vigour.
"Beatrice", she declared, her voice thin and sharp enough to slice cheese. "The air in here is simply dreadful. Stuffy. Positively cloying."
Mrs Higgins, who never quite knew how to handle her aunt, managed to force a smile that looked a little like a wobbly jelly. "Hello, Aunt Mildred. It's lovely to see you. Do come in, come in."
Reza observed the proceedings from the bottom of the stairs, his emerald eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. This woman, with her pursed lips and permanently disapproving gaze, was a blight on his otherwise perfect kingdom. He'd heard Mrs Higgins on the phone earlier, sighing dramatically, "Oh dear, not Aunt Mildred." Even his human servant didn't like her. "A truly discerning human", Reza mused, "even if she does insist on putting me on a diet."
"And you still have... it", Aunt Mildred sniffed, pointing a bony, accusing finger directly at Reza, as if he were a particularly stubborn ball of fluff.
Reza sat up straighter, puffing out his magnificent chest. He was not an 'it'. He was Reza Shadey, the most important, intelligent, and impossibly handsome cat in the entire universe! He took in her severe tweed suit and the way her jowly face was set in a permanent frown, making her resemble a disgruntled bulldog. He leaned over to Mrs Higgins, who was taking her aunt's impossibly sensible coat.
"They say dogs often resemble their humans", he meowed in a low, conspiratorial tone that only other cats and Mrs Higgins could pretend to understand. "She must have a bulldog. A very grumpy one, with a habit of judging soft furnishings."
Aunt Mildred didn't understand the exact words, but she certainly felt the insult. Her nose twitched violently, a warning tremor before the inevitable seismic event. "Ah... ah... AH-CHOOO!" The sneeze was a sonic boom. It rattled the vase on the hall table, sent a cloud of dust motes dancing like tiny, offended fairies in a sunbeam, and caused Reza to twitch an ear indignantly.
"Oh, dear", said Mrs Higgins, rushing to fetch a tissue. "Are you alright, Aunt Mildred?"
"It's the cat dander!" Aunt Mildred declared, glaring at Reza as if he were personally responsible for all the world's allergies. "I'm terribly allergic. Always have been. I've always been a dog person, you know. They're much cleaner."
Reza was utterly outraged. Dander? Him? He was meticulously clean! He groomed himself for hours every single day! This was not just an insult; this was a declaration of war, a direct challenge to his magnificent, fluffy existence. He waited until Mrs Higgins had settled her aunt in the living room with a cup of tea, muttering about "air purifiers" and "hypoallergenic breeds", before making his stealthy escape through the cat flap. He had to convene an emergency meeting. Immediately.
He found his friends in their usual spot by the big oak tree, a place where important feline matters were always discussed. Penelope was delicately washing a paw, her fur gleaming. Ginger Tom, predictably, was fast asleep, twitching occasionally as if dreaming of chasing particularly plump mice. Tiger, ever the enthusiast, was trying to pounce on a falling leaf, missing spectacularly and tumbling in a flurry of striped fur.
"Emergency meeting!" Reza announced, leaping onto his favourite patch of moss with a dramatic flourish. "The kingdom is under threat from a hostile entity!"
Ginger Tom opened one bleary eye. "Is it a new cat? Does he want our biscuits? I'm very protective of my biscuits, you know."
"Worse", Reza said gravely, his whiskers twitching with dramatic emphasis. "It is a Human Aunt. Code name: The Bulldog. She despises cats, she calls me... 'it', and she... she sneezes at me." He shuddered for emphasis.
Penelope stopped washing and looked at Reza with her usual calm demeanour. "Oh, Reza. Some humans are just allergic. It's not their fault, bless them."
"It is a strategic weakness, Penelope!" Reza countered, his tail twitching like a conductor's baton as the core of an idea began to form in his cunning feline brain. "Adversity, my dear friends, is just opportunity in disguise! Remember when I became a cat psychologist and solved Ginger Tom's existential crisis about the empty biscuit bowl? I am an expert in human frailties."
Tiger bounced on the spot, utterly delighted by the mention of weakness. "Can we pounce on the weakness, Reza? Can we?!"
"In a way, Tiger", Reza said, pacing back and forth with newfound energy. "The Bulldog is currently contained in the living room. But soon, she will venture into the garden for 'fresh air'. And what, pray tell, is in the garden at this time of year?" He paused for dramatic effect.
"Us?" said Ginger Tom hopefully, finally sitting up.
"Hay fever!" Reza declared triumphantly, puffing out his chest. "She is allergic to me indoors, and she will be even more allergic to the garden outdoors! She will be a walking, talking symphony of sneezes! No one — not even Mrs Higgins — can blame me for her suffering if she's sneezing out here as well!"
Penelope looked worried. "Reza, what exactly are you planning?"
"I'm not planning anything", he said with an air of innocence so thick it was practically tangible. "I am merely going to... help. When she comes out here and starts sneezing from the pollen, I will present her with the cure. And when I, the very thing she detests, am the one who solves her problem, Mrs Higgins will finally see who the truly valuable being in this house is. The salmon pâté, my friends, will flow for a week!" He envisioned vast rivers of the delicious, pink, fishy treat.
A short while later, Aunt Mildred did indeed step into the garden, clutching a freshly laundered handkerchief. "The air in that house is impossible, Beatrice! I shall sit out here. It promises to be... less stuffy."
As if on cue, a gentle breeze rustled the roses, honeysuckle, and various flowering shrubs, releasing a cloud of invisible pollen into the air. Aunt Mildred's nose began to twitch almost immediately. "Ah... ah-choo." She dabbed delicately at her nose.
This was Reza's moment. "Operation Cure the Bulldog is a-go!" he whispered, his eyes gleaming with strategic brilliance. "Tiger! Bring me a distracting feather! The dustier the better! Penelope! A damp leaf, a large one, it will be soothing! Ginger Tom! Get... get that smelly sock from behind the shed! Its pungency will overwhelm her senses, a tactical diversion!"
His friends, confused but loyal, scurried off with remarkable efficiency. Aunt Mildred, meanwhile, was starting to look truly miserable, her eyes watering as she sneezed into her tiny handkerchief, producing a series of increasingly loud "Ah-choo-choo-choos!"
Tiger arrived first, dropping a particularly dusty pigeon feather right on her pristine tweed lap. "What is this filthy thing?!" she yelped, batting it away with a shudder, which, predictably, triggered another sneeze.
Penelope, with her usual grace, gently placed a wet, somewhat muddy, leaf on Aunt Mildred's sensible shoe. Aunt Mildred looked down in utter disgust, as if the leaf were a tiny, slimy alien attempting an invasion.
Then Ginger Tom, immensely proud of his contribution, trotted up and deposited a truly ancient, mud-caked sock right next to her garden chair, his tail held high like a triumphant banner. The smell — oh, the smell — hit her with the force of a small, furry, pungent meteorite.
"Good heavens! What is that stench?!" Aunt Mildred cried, fanning frantically with her handkerchief.
Now for the masterstroke. While she was distracted by the unsavoury sock, the damp leaf, and the dusty feather, Reza made his move. He leaped silently onto the bench beside her, his paws landing with the silent precision of a seasoned hunter. He looked her right in her now very watery eyes and, with all the power of his magnificent lungs, let out his most therapeutic, rumbling purr. It vibrated through his entire body, a purr so potent it could, he was sure, cure all known ailments. He envisioned a medal, perhaps made of salmon.
And then, with the utmost confidence, he rubbed his fluffy face, laden with the day's adventures and perhaps a tiny bit of lingering dander, right against her tweed-covered arm.
The effect was instantaneous and, from Aunt Mildred's perspective, utterly catastrophic.
Aunt Mildred's already agitated face swelled. Her eyes, already watering from the pollen and the indignity of the leaf and the sock, nearly vanished into puffy, indignant slits. The hay fever sneeze was a mere kitten's mew compared to the full-blown, cat-dander-infused explosion that erupted from her now.
"AH-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" It was a sound that made the birds momentarily cease their singing. It was a symphony of allergic fury.
She shot up from the bench, wheezing like a teapot on the boil. "THAT'S IT, BEATRICE! I'M LEAVING! THIS PLACE IS A HEALTH HAZARD! FIRST THE DANDER, THEN THE FILTHY GARDEN, AND THAT... THAT MONSTER JUST ASSAULTED ME!"
Mrs Higgins came running out, saw her aunt's predicament, saw Reza looking incredibly pleased with himself, preening on the bench as if he'd just won the Nobel Prize for Feline Philanthropy, and understood everything. In record time, Aunt Mildred was bundled into a waiting taxi, still sneezing and muttering darkly about "filthy animals" and "personal space invaders."
The house fell into a blissful silence, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of a slightly startled robin.
Mrs Higgins sank into a garden chair and looked at Reza, who was now meticulously cleaning a paw, the undisputed victor of the day. She should have been cross. She really, truly should have been. But a tiny, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips.
"Oh, Reza", she sighed, a note of amusement — and perhaps a touch of weary resignation — in her voice. "You are utterly impossible."
Reza took this as the highest praise, a testament to his strategic genius. His plan had worked perfectly. He had identified the threat, deployed his loyal (if slightly confused) team, and eliminated the problem. The house was once again a peaceful kingdom under his magnificent rule. And soon, he knew, a delicious reward would be forthcoming.
He trotted inside and sat expectantly by the fridge, his tail twitching with anticipation. "My reward, I believe", he meowed, looking up at Mrs Higgins with an air of entitled superiority. "A large tin of the finest salmon pâté. For services to domestic harmony, and indeed, to the general peace and quiet of this establishment."
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: Always be kind to your relatives, even if they sneeze! And remember, sometimes the best way to solve a problem isn't to make it worse, even if you're a very clever cat! Always respect people's personal space, especially if they have allergies!
For those who think this story is dangerous pre-2015 cat propaganda there is a alternative, safe, trauma-informed, cat-therapy-approved edition: The Valid Allergic Experience of Aunt Mildred.
Night night. Sleep tight.