Story 86: Reza Shadey, Life Coach Extraordinaire
Right then, little ones — blankets tucked, whiskers fluffed? Good. Tonight's tale is about a very fluffy cat with very big ideas that got him into a very big muddle.
It all began one breezy afternoon when Reza Shadey was chasing a particularly stubborn moth through Mrs Higgins's study. In a flurry of paws and pomposity, he misjudged a leap and knocked a heavy book off the shelf. It flopped open to a page that read: "When you're unsure how to move forward, ask: Who am I?"
Reza froze mid-pounce. His tail twitched. His magnificent, scheming mind raced. "Who am I?" he thought, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "A cat? A visionary? A feline of fluffy destiny? Why, of course! This is my true calling! The world doesn't just need a boss. It needs a guru. It needs... me!"
That evening, under a buttery moon in Mrs Higgins's garden, Reza climbed atop a flowerpot podium. "Ladies, gentlemen, and Tiger", he began grandly, "I've had a revelation. I am more than my schemes. More than my glorious coat. I am a being of depth. And I am ready... to help YOU discover your inner 'who'!"
Sensible Penelope narrowed her eyes. "Is this like the time you tried to invent a cat-only delivery service with the laundry basket?" she asked suspiciously.
Reza waved a dismissive paw. "That was logistics. This is philosophy."
Ginger Tom, halfway through a stolen biscuit, grunted, "As long as there's no running involved, I'm in."
Tiger bounced. "Are there hats? Is it a treasure hunt?"
"No", Reza said with profound seriousness. "We're going to find ourselves". And just like that, Reza's Institute for Feline Fulfilment was born. His motto: "I coach the cat, not the problem".
His first session was with Ginger Tom. Reza had set up his "Coaching Lounge" on the sunniest patch of patio: one cushion, one clipboard (made of leaves), and a pair of reading glasses he didn't need but made him look clever. "Alright, coach", said Tom. "What's my 'who'?"
"Tom", said Reza wisely, "what would the ideal you look like in five years?"
Tom thought for a moment. "Sleeping. With snacks."
Reza scribbled on his leaf. "Marvellous! You are already aligned with your core values. You are living your truth".
Tom grinned. "Best coaching session ever."
Next was Penelope. "I'm only here to make sure this doesn't turn into a cult", she sniffed, curling her tail neatly. Reza nodded gravely. "Penelope, you're wise and stable. But what's beneath that caution?". She thought. "I like honesty. Knowing where things stand". Reza leaned in. "Then don't chase chaos. Chase clarity". Penelope blinked. "That's... actually helpful."
Tiger crashed onto the cushion. "I want to be brave! And fast! And maybe a butterfly!". Reza chuckled. "You already chase bees". "I do! And I get stung!". "Bravery", said Reza, "isn't about never getting stung. It's about bouncing back. Literally, in your case". Tiger beamed. "I'm a bouncy, brave, bee-chasing butterfly-cat!"
Reza even coached other animals. He found Pico the parrot squawking in a bush. "I'm so anxious!" yelled Pico. "Express your true self", Reza advised. "Your inner voice is a car alarm. Embrace it!". Soon, the garden echoed with "SQUAWK-A-DOODLE-BEEP-BEEP!" at all hours. Then came Sheldon the goldfish. "What is my purpose?" he bubbled. "To admire greatness", said Reza, pointing to his own reflection in the bowl. From then on, Sheldon swam in frantic circles, trying to follow Reza's every move.
But things unravelled. The neighbours complained about Pico's midnight beeping. Sheldon's owner worried the fish had gone loopy. Ginger Tom now napped 23 hours a day, declaring it was his "core truth". Tiger kept chasing wasps and getting a sore nose. And Penelope started her own "Clarity Club" — which involved sitting quietly and not inviting Reza.
Furious, Reza shouted, "You're supposed to be my enlightened followers!". Penelope groomed a paw. "You coached us to be ourselves, Rezzi. And, well... we don't need a life coach anymore."
Abandoned, Reza had a meltdown. He scrambled onto the shed roof, his magnificent tail puffed with philosophical rage. "I am the only one who truly understands the universe!" he howled to the garden gnomes. Then — WHOOSH! THUMP! SPLOOOSH! — He slipped on a loose tile. He tumbled through the air. He landed in a wheelbarrow full of muddy rainwater.
The others rushed over. Tom nudged the wheelbarrow. Penelope gave Reza's soggy ear a gentle lick. Tiger shouted, "Best splash-landing EVER!". Dripping and humbled, Reza looked at his friends. They weren't helping him because he was a guru. They were helping him because he was Reza. Their daft, dramatic, dearly loved friend.
The next day, Reza gathered them once more. "Ahem", he announced, trying to look dignified despite a leaf stuck to his fur, "my experimental technique, cat-astrophe therapy, was a total success. I created a crisis to bring us closer. Pure genius". They all rolled their eyes.
Later, when Mrs Higgins installed a hammock, they all piled in together, tails tangled. Reza purred, nestled between Penelope and Tom. "The ideal me doesn't chase answers", he whispered. "He naps until they come. With friends."
Night night. Sleep tight.