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's 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 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 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 did insist on putting him 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 leaned slightly towards Mrs Higgins as she took the impossibly sensible coat.
"They say dogs often resemble their humans", he meowed in a low, conspiratorial tone. "She must have a bulldog. A very grumpy one, with a habit of judging soft furnishings".
Aunt Mildred did not understand the 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 dust motes dancing like tiny offended fairies, and caused Reza to twitch an ear indignantly.
"Oh dear", said Mrs Higgins, hurrying for 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. They're much cleaner".
Reza was outraged.
Dander? Him? He was meticulously clean. He groomed himself for hours every day. This was not merely an insult. This was a declaration of war.
He waited until Mrs Higgins had settled her aunt in the living room with tea, muttering about "air purifiers" and "hypoallergenic breeds", before slipping out through the cat flap.
An emergency meeting was required. Immediately.
He found his friends by the big oak tree.
Penelope was delicately washing a paw. Ginger Tom was fast asleep, twitching as if pursuing imaginary mice. Tiger was attempting to pounce on a falling leaf and missing with spectacular enthusiasm.
"Emergency meeting!"Reza announced, leaping onto his favourite patch of moss. "The kingdom is under threat from a hostile entity!"
Ginger Tom opened one eye. "Is it a new cat? Does he want our biscuits? I'm very protective of my biscuits".
"Worse", said Reza gravely. "It is a Human Aunt. Code name: The Bulldog. She despises cats, she calls me... 'it', and she... she sneezes at me".
He shuddered.
Penelope paused mid-wash. "Oh, Reza. Some humans are just allergic. It's not their fault".
"It is a strategic vulnerability", Reza countered, his tail twitching like a conductor's baton. "Adversity, my dear friends, is merely opportunity in disguise. We are entering what I call a... controlled symptom amplification phase".
Tiger bounced. "Can we pounce on the phase?!"
"In a manner of speaking", said Reza, pacing. "She will soon venture into the garden for 'fresh air'. And what, pray tell, is in the garden at this time of year?"
"Us?" said Ginger Tom hopefully.
"Hay fever", Reza declared. "Her symptoms will increase naturally. At peak sneeze saturation... the system will be ready for intervention".
Penelope frowned. "Reza, what exactly does this 'intervention' involve?"
Reza drew himself up.
"A brief escalation of symptoms", he said with professional seriousness.
Tiger grinned. "That sounds chaotic. I love it".
A short while later, Aunt Mildred stepped 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".
A gentle breeze stirred the roses and honeysuckle, releasing invisible clouds of pollen.
"Ah... ah-choo".
Her nose twitched again.
This was Reza's moment.
"Operation Cure The Bulldog is a-go", he whispered. "Tiger! A feather. The dustier the better. Bonus points for maximum floatiness. Penelope! A damp leaf. Large. Soothing. Ginger Tom! The sock".
"The really bad one?"Ginger Tom asked, suddenly wide awake.
"The premium asset", Reza confirmed.
They scattered.
Aunt Mildred, meanwhile, was deteriorating.
"Ah-choo-choo-choo!"
Tiger arrived first, dropping a dusty pigeon feather squarely onto her pristine tweed lap. It clung stubbornly.
"What is this filthy thing?!" she cried, flicking at it - only to trigger another sneeze.
Penelope followed, placing a damp, slightly muddy leaf gently on Aunt Mildred's sensible shoe.
Aunt Mildred stared at it as if it were a hostile organism.
Then came Ginger Tom.
With immense pride, he deposited a truly ancient, mud-caked sock beside the chair. It landed... upright.
The smell arrived a moment later.
"Good heavens! What is that stench?!"
She fanned frantically.
Perfect.
Now for the masterstroke.
Reza leapt onto the bench beside her with silent precision. He met her watering eyes and unleashed his most powerful purr - a deep, resonant vibration of such magnitude it could, he was certain, qualify as a medical breakthrough.
He leaned in.
And rubbed his fluffy face - laden with the day's adventures and just a whisper of dander - against her arm.
The effect was immediate.
And catastrophic.
Aunt Mildred froze.
Her eyes widened.
Her face swelled.
And then -
for one terrible, silent moment -
"AH-CHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Birds fell silent. Leaves trembled.
She sprang to her feet, wheezing like an overboiled kettle.
"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 hurried outside, took one look at her aunt, one look at Reza - who was preening with satisfaction - and understood everything.
"Right", she said briskly. "Taxi".
Within minutes, Aunt Mildred was gone, still sneezing and muttering darkly about "filthy animals" and "personal space invaders".
Silence returned.
Mrs Higgins sank into a garden chair.
"You did that on purpose", she said.
Reza, who was cleaning a paw, did not look up.
"A targeted intervention with measurable outcomes", he murmured.
She sighed.
"Oh, Reza. You are utterly impossible".
He accepted this as the highest praise.
The kingdom was restored. The threat eliminated. Order prevailed.
He trotted inside and sat expectantly by the fridge.
"My reward, I believe", he meowed, "a large tin of the finest salmon pâté. For services to domestic harmony".
Mrs Higgins looked at him for a long moment.
Then, despite herself, she smiled.
A very important message from Mrs Higgins: It's always kind to look after your guests - even if things don't go quite to plan. And remember, giving people space when they feel poorly is a very good idea too.
Night night. Sleep tight.
For those who think this story is 'politically incorrect' there is an alternative, safe, trauma-informed, cat-therapy-approved edition: The Valid Allergic Experience of Aunt Mildred.