Story 92: Reza Shadey's Blue Monday
Okay, snuggle down tight, little ones. Let me tell you a tale about a very cheeky and magnificently fluffy cat who decided that sadness was terrible for business — and naturally tried to monetise happiness.
It was a miserably grey January morning.
The sparkly joy of Christmas was a distant memory, replaced by unpaid bills, a chilly wind, and the grim reality of a post-turkey diet. Inside, Mrs Higgins was listening to Radio 4, sighing deeply as a very serious man explained why this particular Monday was the most miserable day of the entire year.
Reza Shadey, magnificent even in his gloom, was draped over the arm of the sofa like a furry, deflated balloon.
He was suffering.
The humans' misery was infectious, creating a distinct lack of cheerful ear-scratching. Worse still, his own bowl contained only boring, sensible diet biscuits.
"An outrage", he thought. "A crime against my magnificent fluff."
As the man on the radio droned on, a magnificent idea sparked in Reza's cunning brain.
Misery was a problem.
And he, Reza Shadey, was a purr-veyor of solutions.
More importantly, misery was a market opportunity.
"Hmph. This widespread sadness is terrible for business", he purred to himself. "My business being, of course, the acquisition of snacks."
With a leap, he bounded into the garden, his tail held high with newfound purpose.
"ATTENTION, my gloomy associates!" he yowled from atop the garden wall. "Are you experiencing a deficit in morale? Has the emotional marketplace become deeply disappointing? Fear not! For I, your Chief Joy Strategist, shall host the 'Is Everybody Happy?' Festival! Today! In this very garden!"
Penelope, looking elegant even on a miserable day, blinked slowly.
"A festival, Rezzi? Is this another one of your schemes?" she asked.
Ginger Tom, who had been trying to nap under a leafless bush, cracked open one eye.
"Is there an entrance fee?" he grumbled. "And more importantly, is there a leaving fee?"
"Ah, the logistical details!" Reza purred smoothly. "The entrance fee is a mere five fishy bits! A small price for organised merriment! There will be games, there will be joy, and there will be a grand silly rhyme competition! The winner... gets the entire pot of entrance fees!"
He grinned to himself.
As the sole judge, he knew exactly who the winner would be.
"My rhyme about the utter brilliance of me is a guaranteed triumph", he thought smugly. "The snacks will be mine!"
The promise of fun — and Tiger enthusiastically yelling, "There might be snacks!" to anyone within earshot — proved impossible to resist.
Soon, cats from all over the neighbourhood began to arrive.
Marmalade, the sleek tabby, dropped her five fishy bits into Reza's collection pot, which was really just an old flowerpot. Whiskers, Tiger's fluffy grey cousin, paid his entry too. Even Shadow, the mysterious black cat, appeared silently at the back, dropping her payment with a flick of her dark tail.
The pile of delicious fishy bits grew into a magnificent, fragrant mountain.
The festival began.
There was a "chase the leaf" competition, which Ginger Tom refused to enter on the grounds that it was "too much like exercise".
There was a "most dramatic yawn" contest, which Ginger Tom won without even trying.
Finally, it was time for the main event.
Reza sat upon his judging throne — a slightly wobbly garden gnome — and cleared his throat importantly.
"The silly rhyme competition is now open!" he declared.
Penelope went first, with a clever, witty verse:
"Our Reza is bossy and terribly grand,
he thinks that a biscuit is worth more than land.
He plots and he schemes with a flick of his tail,
but his plans, like a leaky boat, always seem to fail."
Reza gave a polite smile that looked slightly strained.
"Constructive feedback is important", he said stiffly.
Ginger Tom was next, with a short but heartfelt poem:
"The sun is quite nice, a biscuit is better,
I'd write a long poem, but I can't find a letter.
So I'll just have a nap, and dream of some fish,
for a snooze and a snack are my only real wish."
Several cats nodded thoughtfully.
"Strong emotional honesty", Reza admitted.
Whiskers bounced forward enthusiastically:
"I came for a visit from far away,
to sleep on a sofa and happily play.
I bounced and I tumbled and broke a blue vase,
but the cushions were comfy all over the place!"
Marmalade gave a theatrical sigh.
"I was watching my tablet, happy and snug,
when a cat pulled me out with a terrible tug.
He called it a 'rescue', a grand, heroic deed,
but my show was paused on a very good feed!"
Reza coughed and looked away.
"Next contestant", he muttered.
Then Shadow stepped forward, her voice a spooky whisper that made everyone's fur tingle.
"Beware the dark shed where the potions all brew,
a witch's cat watches, and she's looking at you.
A hoot from an owl, a rustle of leaves,
might just be a warning for magnificent thieves."
Several cats shuffled a little closer together.
Reza gave polite, but dismissive nods.
"Adequate", he said grandly. "Now, for true genius."
He stood tall and recited his own masterpiece:
"I am Reza, a cat of great might,
my fur is so dark, my brain is so bright.
I invent and I manage, I lead and I rule,
any cat who thinks different is simply a fool!"
He bowed, expecting thunderous applause.
Instead, there was a slightly awkward silence, broken only by Ginger Tom snoring.
Then it was Tiger's turn.
He bounced onto the 'stage' — a patch of moss — did a little wiggle, and took a deep breath, vibrating with excitement.
"My rhyme is called 'The Wobbly Bum!'" he announced proudly.
He immediately began chasing his own tail, running in a tighter and tighter circle until he became a stripy blur.
"My bum has a wiggle, my bum has a jiggle,
when I chase my tail, it gives me a giggle!"
he panted, getting dizzier and dizzier.
"It wobbles to the left, it wobbles to the..."
But he never finished.
With one final, spectacular wobble, Tiger lost his balance completely and tumbled head-over-paws into a pile of dry leaves with a soft:
"OOF!"
His stripy little bottom stuck straight up in the air.
Still wiggling.
The garden erupted.
Penelope let out a purr of pure laughter.
Tom woke up with a snort and began chuckling.
Even Shadow gave the tiniest spooky snicker.
And Reza — who was trying very hard to maintain his serious executive face — felt something wobble in his own magnificent belly.
He tried to fight it.
He pursed his lips.
His whiskers trembled.
But the sight of Tiger's wiggling bottom in the leaves was simply too much.
A snort escaped.
Then a giggle.
Then suddenly Reza Shadey was laughing so hard he nearly slid right off the garden gnome, his magnificent fluff wobbling from ears to tail-tip.
"Oh dear", he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye with one paw.
He looked at the mountain of fishy bits. So many beautiful fishy bits.
Then at Tiger.
Then at all the happy, laughing faces around the garden.
For a moment, something warm and cosy fluttered quietly inside his fluffy chest.
His plan was in tatters.
But somehow... he didn't mind very much.
"The winner", he declared at last, still chuckling, "is Tiger!"
Tiger scrambled out of the leaves, beaming proudly, and immediately shared his winnings with everyone.
Soon the whole garden was full of chatting, laughing, and happy little crunching sounds.
The miserable Blue Monday had somehow turned into something rather lovely — a day full of laughter instead.
Reza, munching on a fishy bit he definitely had not won, watched his friends tumbling about the garden.
For one tiny moment, he almost felt sentimental.
Then, naturally, his magnificent brain corrected the misunderstanding.
"Hmph", he murmured importantly. "The festival was a resounding success. I successfully cured the neighbourhood's morale deficit. The operational costs — namely the prize fund — were a necessary investment in public relations. A true leader knows when to delegate the victory."
He puffed out his chest proudly.
"Pure genius, really."
And with that, Reza curled himself into a perfect fluffy circle, already planning next week's entirely unnecessary but potentially profitable morale festival.
Night night. Sleep tight.