Story 90: Reza Shadey's Christmas Carol
In the quiet, frosty hours of Christmas Eve, a frosty wind crept through the neighbourhood, rattling fences and frosting quiet garden paths. Every sensible creature was asleep.
Well.
Almost every creature.
Curled upon an emerald-green blanket beside the warm radiator lay Reza Shadey.
The magnificently fluffy Persian cat was dreaming.
Not of snowflakes.
Not of goodwill.
And certainly not of sharing.
Reza Shadey was dreaming of turkey.
Christmas turkey.
An enormous, golden mountain of perfectly sliced Christmas turkey sitting entirely unattended upon the kitchen table, apparently waiting for a cat of exceptional intelligence to claim it.
Dream-Reza sat proudly upon the table like a king.
"Remarkable", Mrs Higgins gasped in admiration. "You've saved Christmas dinner!"
"Leadership", Reza purred grandly. "A burden I shoulder with dignity."
In his sleep, Reza gave a tiny smug twitch of the whiskers.
Christmas, in Reza's opinion, was not about giving.
Christmas was about opportunity.
After all, his many entrepreneurial endeavours — from Catio-Corp International to the disastrous Ghostly Go-Away Service — had taught him one important lesson:
If something nice existed, somebody should probably give it to Reza.
Then —
GRRRRRRMMMMMM.
A strange, low rumble rolled through the house.
Reza's eyes snapped open.
The radiator had gone cold.
The room felt... odd.
Darker somehow.
Colder.
The growl came again.
Slowly, very slowly, Reza sat upright.
Hovering above the carpet was a shape.
A cat-shaped shape.
A transparent cat-shaped shape.
"Oh", said Reza quietly.
"That seems unfortunate."
The figure shimmered faintly blue.
Around its neck dragged a rattling chain made of jingling bells, soggy leaves from an old managerial clipboard, broken fish toys, and — for reasons impossible to explain — a bent spoon.
The ghost lifted its head.
It was Shah Fluffybutt.
Reza blinked.
"Fluffybutt?" he said. "Good heavens. You look absolutely terrible."
The ghost let out a mournful sigh.
"Rezaaaaa..." came the hollow voice. "You see before you the terrible consequence of a selfish life."
The spoon clinked sadly.
"These are the chains I forged in life — foolish schemes, failed ventures, broken friendships, and one deeply humiliating television appearance involving Tuna Titan."
Reza frowned thoughtfully.
"Yes", he said. "That pitch was weak."
Shah glared.
"For me, Reza."
"Ah."
The ghost floated nearer.
"You care only for yourself. One day, you too shall wander friendless and alone!"
Reza considered this.
"Well", he said carefully, "I do enjoy being right."
Shah let out such a dramatic ghostly wail that Reza nearly fell off the blanket.
"Three spirits will visit you tonight!" thundered Shah Fluffybutt. "Ignore them, and suffer my miserable fate!"
With that, the ghost dissolved into mist.
The room grew still.
Only the faint smell of catnip and poor judgement remained.
Reza stared into the darkness.
"Well", he muttered, pulling the blanket closer, "that felt unnecessarily theatrical."
The first spirit arrived at midnight.
The room filled with the soft scent of warm milk and sunshine.
A gentle glow appeared.
Penelope stood there.
Kind Penelope.
Sensibly lovely Penelope.
Only now she shimmered softly like moonlight.
"Come with me, Rezzi", she said warmly.
Reza blinked.
"You appear unusually sparkly."
"I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"Oh dear", said Reza. "This sounds educational."
Before he could protest, the room melted away.
Suddenly —
Sunshine.
Grass.
A warm garden.
And there —
Tiny Reza.
Fluffier than seemed scientifically possible.
His paws far too large.
His tail hopelessly uncoordinated.
Little Reza launched himself heroically at a red ball of yarn.
Missed.
Rolled sideways.
Tumbled into a flowerpot.
Recovered instantly.
Nearby sat another kitten — shy, nervous, alone.
Tiny Reza paused.
Then gently nudged the yarn towards them.
The kitten purred.
Little Reza purred louder.
Present-day Reza stared.
"Oh", he said quietly.
"I'd forgotten that."
Penelope smiled gently.
"You used to like simple things, Rezzi."
Tiny Reza rolled onto his back in the sunshine, completely content.
No grand plans.
No business empires.
No schemes.
Just naps.
Games.
Warmth.
Something unfamiliar tugged awkwardly at Reza's chest.
"This", he muttered, "is mildly inconvenient."
"You had a good heart once", Penelope said softly.
Reza sat very still.
"Well", he said eventually, "perhaps it simply became... professionally ambitious."
The garden faded.
The second spirit arrived with laughter.
And noise.
And the faint smell of sausages.
"Alright, mate!"
A burst of light filled the room.
Ginger Tom appeared wearing a tiny Santa hat tilted at a confident angle.
"Enough mopin'. Fancy seein' what Christmas looks like when yer not sittin' around thinkin' about yerself?"
"I was not moping", Reza said. "I was engaging in strategic reflection."
"Yeah", said Tom. "Course ya were."
The room whirled.
Moments later, they stood high above a bustling Christmas market in Shanghai.
Lanterns glowed overhead.
Steam curled from market stalls.
The scent of dumplings drifted through the cold night air.
Far below, cats leapt gracefully across rooftops.
Reza blinked.
"Shanghai?"
Tom grinned.
"Recognise it?"
On a nearby rooftop sat Mao Li, wise and one-eyed, calmly sharing a mooncake.
Beside him sat Bao Bao, the grumpy Pekinese dog, pretending not to enjoy himself while very clearly enjoying himself.
Mao Li quietly pushed the larger half of the mooncake toward Bao Bao.
Bao Bao grumbled.
Then ate it anyway.
"No arguments", said Tom softly. "No grand speeches. Just lookin' after each other."
Warm light glowed from nearby windows.
Families laughed.
Friends gathered.
Nobody seemed terribly interested in who owed whom anything.
And suddenly —
Reza saw himself.
Back home.
Curled alone upon his blanket.
Guarding turkey nobody wanted.
Nobody visiting.
Nobody laughing.
Just silence.
The loneliness of it settled around him like cold fog.
Tom looked at him.
"Bit rubbish, innit?"
For once, Reza had no clever answer.
The lanterns faded into darkness.
The final spirit arrived silently.
No warmth.
No glow.
Only darkness.
Shadow, the sleek, mysterious 'witch's cat', stood waiting.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
Without a word, she lifted one paw.
The world changed.
Cold.
Dark.
Empty.
Reza stood in a lonely warehouse.
No blanket.
No radiator.
No Mrs Higgins.
Only a battered bowl of dry biscuits containing suspicious green flecks.
Vegetables.
Reza recoiled.
"No tuna?"
Reza staggered backwards.
"This is no future at all."
Wind rattled broken windows.
Far away, something dripped sadly.
Shadow pointed again.
The darkness shifted.
A small tabby limped slowly through an alley.
Scruffy.
Cold.
Miserable.
Marmalade.
Reza gasped.
"Marmalade?"
She looked up sadly.
"Ever since that ridiculous rescue", she sighed, "things just went downhill."
Rain dripped beside her.
"No warm home."
She sniffed.
"No cuddles."
A pause.
"No turkey."
Reza's stomach dropped.
"But I rescued you!"
Marmalade blinked.
"Did you?"
Oh dear.
A dreadful thought crept into Reza's mind.
What if his rescue had been... badly managed?
What if Reza Shadey Enterprises had accidentally failed somebody?
What if this counted as —
Poor leadership?
"No!" cried Reza.
"This shall not stand!"
He puffed out his chest.
"I shall immediately implement emergency festive interventions!"
Shadow remained silent.
"I shall strategically redistribute turkey resources!" Reza declared.
"I shall establish Marmalade Housing Solutions!"
Marmalade blinked.
"That sounds nice."
Reza turned desperately toward Shadow.
"Tell me there is still time!"
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then —
Shadow slowly disappeared.
Reza awoke with a gasp.
Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains.
Christmas morning.
The house smelled gloriously of turkey.
"Oh!" cried Reza.
"No tragic warehouse!"
He leapt from the blanket and charged downstairs.
Moments later, Mrs Higgins entered the kitchen and stopped in surprise.
"Well", she said softly.
That was unusual.
Not a single slice of Christmas turkey had mysteriously vanished overnight.
Even stranger —
There sat Reza.
Carefully nudging a generous piece of freshly carved turkey toward a rather bewildered Marmalade, who had somehow been found, escorted indoors, and settled beside the radiator.
Marmalade blinked.
"You sure?"
Reza straightened importantly.
"A temporary festive arrangement", he said.
Mrs Higgins smiled.
"Oh, Reza", she whispered fondly.
Later, curled upon his emerald blanket, Reza carefully groomed his magnificent fur.
"A highly successful charitable initiative", he purred to himself.
"An excellent investment in community relations, reputational enhancement, and future stakeholder loyalty."
He paused thoughtfully.
"And", he added quietly, "perhaps... one tiny bit of Christmas goodwill."
Reza frowned.
"No", he corrected himself quickly.
"Brand optimisation."
He tucked his paws underneath himself.
Entirely unchanged.
Just... slightly better at Christmas.
And somewhere, faintly drifting through the frosty morning air, came the weary ghostly sigh of Shah Fluffybutt.
"Oh dear", whispered the ghost.
"He's still Reza."
Night night. Sleep tight.